Bury the Sun
by Laura of Maychoria
Summary: Sam Holt has been a captive of the Galra for more than a year. He has lost all hope of escape or rescue. But when a new prisoner arrives in his underground cell, a boy who seems to carry the sun in his smile, everything begins to change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I totally forgot to post this fic here, and I am SO sorry. Anyway. This is a big bang fic, and there is art for it, but I can't post it on ff.n. You can find it on AO3. My username there is maychorian. Or on my tumblr, same name, with the tag Bury the Sun. My artist for this fic is **fascher** , and the art is great, so I definitely recommend looking for it.

Warning: This fic has a lot of offscreen torture. A lot. This is definitely one of the top five darkest things I've ever written. Maybe top three. None of it is graphically described, but the effects are. When I say heavy angst in the tags, I mean HEAVY. There is a point where someone expresses a wish to die, though calling it suicidal is not quite right. The fic is just really dark and heavy, okay. If this kind of content might trigger you psychologically, I strongly suggest skipping this fic, since probably seventy-five percent of it references or describes the horrible things that sentient creatures do to other sentient creatures.

That said, the focus is not on the hurt itself, but on the comfort and support that the prisoners are able to offer each other, because that's how I roll. When I write dark fic, it's because I want to highlight the good that still exists, not revel in the evil. Thus the title, Bury the Sun. The sun is still there. It just gets hidden for a while.

Thank you for reading!

* * *

Sam had heard rumors for a couple of days now that the Galra had captured someone important. Someone they were bringing here, to Berav'iv. One thing Sam had learned early in his imprisonment was that rumors could not be trusted. Despite the soul-crushing conditions, the filth and squalor and poor food, prison was just...well...boring. Prisoners had a habit of seizing upon any sense of news of the outside world and passing it around like something precious that everyone needed to look at.

A good rumor could fuel speculation for weeks, even months. And this rumor was particularly juicy and interesting. Who could the new prisoner be? Why were they important? Why were the guards talking about it? Usually new prisoners just showed with no warning, but this time it was interesting enough that even Galra were passing rumors amongst themselves.

Sam was not as entranced by the idea as most of the other prisoners. But then, he hadn't been here that long. Sometimes he almost missed the labor colony. The work had been degrading and exhausting, but it hadn't been boring. He had been able to dream of escape, to study the patterns of the guards and the layout of the factory where he worked and try to think of viable routes out of there. They had all fallen to nothing in the end when he had been suddenly transferred to Berav'iv, but at least he'd had hope.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait. This prison was on an old, old Galra planet, not a newly colonized world like the labor colony. It was buried deep in the mountains of the central continent, and Sam and the other prisoners were separated from the outside world by miles and miles of rock and snow and small, confined tunnels. On the way in, he had tried to watch for an escape route, but it quickly became clear that escape from this prison was impossible, just as the guards boasted. Only one outside door led into the mountain, large and thick and heavily guarded, and the circuitous path to the cells went through another dozen doors, all locked and watched. This was the place where prisoners were abandoned to be forgotten. Left to rot and die.

Sam didn't know what he'd done to merit being sent here. On talking to the other prisoners, he had discovered mostly former political leaders, queens and governors and princes of their planets. After the Galra had conquered their homes, they had been sent here so that their people had no figurehead to rally around, no hope of retrieving their rightful rulers. Some were activists and dissidents from within the existing Galra Empire who had dared to speak up, dared to resist, dared to offer an opposing point of view. Some of them were Galra themselves, plucked out of their homes by their own government and sent here to be abandoned and forgotten with the rest.

Sam was no political leader, and he hadn't had a chance to foment any kind of rebellion in the factory, though the thought had crossed his mind. The only hint he'd had for the reason of his transfer for here was some muttering amongst the Galra who transported him. Something about "Voltron" and "Altea," both words that meant nothing to him.

His arrival had been a great shock. They had talked about him for weeks, to the point that he tired of hearing his own name. And the people here had certainly heard of Voltron and Altea. Sam was regaled with many, many old stories about a great robot or warrior or king or prince that had once defended the universe from all harm. Many of the stories contradicted each other, but all agreed that Voltron was the most powerful being (or weapon, or creature, or group of creatures) in the universe. Emperor Zarkon had tried to take control of it, but Voltron had been hidden away.

Still no explanation for what that had to do with Sam, though. The puzzlement of this had kept the conversation going far longer than usual. No one could come up with a satisfactory theory, though Sam heard many ideas. Maybe Voltron wanted Sam for some reason. Maybe his planet was important. Maybe he was the descendant of an ancient line that could find Voltron, or bring it together. Maybe Altea hadn't truly been destroyed, but was hiding. Maybe Sam unwittingly had some sort of key to Altea. Nothing came of it, though at first Sam had listened to all of the stories and speculation with great interest.

All that ever changed down here was the shift of the guards. They brought them food at regular intervals, laughed when any of the prisoners dared to beg for something more, and stood outside the bars and talked amongst themselves. Always two Galra, bored and discontent, asking why it had to be them, why robot sentries couldn't be used for this dull task. This particular set of prisoners was considered important enough to merit flesh-and-blood Galra guards, but it was a ceremonial position at best. The guards were just as bored as the rest of them.

So the guards didn't care what rumors they set off among the prisoners with their idle talk. Sometimes they mocked them, talking about how the people of this or that important prisoner were trying to ransom them, how a rebellion had been quelled, how many hundred thousand had been killed. They relished their ability to abuse their captive audience with their words, though they rarely had cause to lay hands on anyone. Sam learned quickly not to listen to the guards when they spoke directly to the prisoners.

But when they were talking just to each other, that information was a bit more trustworthy. The rumor about a new arrival wasn't quite enough to catch Sam's interest, but he didn't begrudge the other prisoners something to talk about, however useless it seemed to him.

Then came a new tidbit of information, dropped without thought from a guard's lips. The new prisoner, arriving now within a few hours, was a human. Like Sam.

And that...that _did_ get Sam's attention.

The speculation and discussions started up immediately, of course. The prisoners began murmuring amongst themselves, all of the old theories about Sam being dragged back into the light with fresh fuel to the fire. Maybe there really was something going on with the humans. Maybe Earth and Altea were connected somehow. Maybe the new prisoner had something to do with Voltron. People were starting to get dangerously hopeful.

Sam said nothing. Even when the others spoke to him, asking for his opinion, he stared blankly at them and shook his head. He sat with his back to the cold, rocky wall, stunned.

Which was it? His son? Or Shiro?

It had to be one of those two. It was the only thing that made sense. He and Matt had been sent to different labor colonies, and whenever new prisoners arrived at the factory where he worked he asked them if they had seen a human like him, smaller, with longer hair, or if they had heard of someone like that. No one ever had.

But Shiro... The rumors about him had been rampant. He had been forced to fight in the arena, but somehow he had survived. He became known as Champion, undefeated in the ring. Guards and prisoners alike talked about him, some with awe and some with fear. Then, suddenly, the talk all but stopped. The guards said he'd been killed in the arena. When Sam heard that, he had gone back to his bunk at the end of the day and wept. He wasn't ashamed of it.

Then he heard a whisper of something else. Shiro had escaped. The idea was too faint, too far-fetched for Sam to trust. But over time, the idea grew on him. What if it was true? What if Shiro had gotten away? What if he had made it back to Earth? Sam let the hope grow within him, though he knew it might be futile. It gave him something to hold onto. If Shiro could escape, maybe he could too. Maybe he would be able to see his family again someday. His son. That was when he started looking for methods of escape.

Soon after, he was transferred here to Berav'iv.

Now, he was filled with mingled elation and despair. To see Matt again so soon was beyond his wildest dreams. It would lend credence to the speculation that there was something special about humans, something Sam didn't understand, because why else would another random prisoner be transferred here, to the living crypt of conquered rulers and silenced dissidents? But if it was Matt, that would mean that he would be trapped here as thoroughly as Sam was, with all hope of escape lost.

If it was Shiro... That was almost worse. It would mean he was alive, which Sam had never quite let himself fully believe. But it would also mean that if he had managed to escape, the Galra had captured him again. And that would mean that the Galra's reach was truly inescapable. It might be even worse for Sam's already deeply despairing heart.

Sam could do nothing but wait. In a few hours, he would know for sure. The talk amongst the other prisoners gradually died down as they registered his silent panic and pain. A couple of the kindest came and sat next him, offering silent support. Zalyk, a Galra dissident who had once tried to tell her people what Zarkon was doing to the subjugated planets, and Kiran, a prince of a conquered alien race with pale, soft fur and large dark eyes. Sam appreciated the company, though he had nothing to say.

When the prisoner arrived, it was neither Matt nor Shiro. They heard his voice before they saw him, echoing through the cramped tunnels of the underground prison. The voice was light, somehow airy, as if the new arrival had conspired to drag a breath of fresh air and sunshine down below the rocks with him. Sam heard the strain in his light tone, though, as he playfully mocked the guards bringing him in. "Hey, do you work out? Those are some big muscles you got. Ow ow ow, you don't have to _demonstrate,_ geez. I'm going, I'm going!"

That was the first thing Sam had heard in English, without passing through the translation chip in his head, for a long, long time. His heart jumped, and he found himself on his feet without remembering how he'd gotten there. Kiran put a hand on his elbow, and Zalyk stepped in front of him with an arm outstretched, keeping Sam from rushing to the bars. The guards would beat back anyone who was too close to the door when they opened it. Sam appreciated the gesture, distantly, but most him was concentrated on staring out through the bars to the anteroom where the guards stood, waiting for his first glimpse of the new prisoner.

They came through the door to the hall, the prisoner dragged between two big, indifferent Galra. He was dressed in a black jumpsuit and purple overshirt, like most of the prisoners, and his skin was medium brown, his hair a darker shade. He was slim, young. Younger than Shiro. Younger than Matt. Had the Galra started kidnapping _children_ from Earth? What the hell was going on here?

"Oh, is that where we're going?" the kid said when he saw the large common cell where Sam and the other prisoners were kept. "Hey, you coulda just said. I'm sure I could have found my way here on my own."

"Shut up," one of the guards said, squeezing the kid's arm hard enough to make him wince. "This is where you will stay until you die. Get used to it."

The boy laughed, loud and obnoxious. Sam had the feeling that he was doing it on purpose just to get a rise out of the guards. Did the idiot child have a death wish? "Yeah, sure I will, big guy. My friends will bust me out in like two days, just you wait and see."

"That's what we're counting on."

Before Sam could parse that strange sentence, the guards who were already in the anteroom unlocked the cell door, and the ones holding the boy threw him into the waiting arms of the prisoners inside. The kid stumbled and went to his knees, and Sam stood where he was, staring at him. The door was locked again with a final-sounding clang, the escorting guards left, and that was that. The new arrival to Berav'iv was trapped with the rest of them.

Several pairs of hands helped the boy to his feet, and he dusted himself off and looked around at the large common cell, ringed with doors that led to isolation cells. He took in the dim lighting, the rocky walls hewn from the mountain itself, and the crowd of faces, gaunt and staring.

"Wow," he said, voice still airy and light. "I've seen some pretty medieval-looking stuff since I left Earth and all. Castles, princesses, even a dragon, the whole shebang. But this is the first time I've been in an honest-to-God dungeon. Can't say I'm all that impressed, really."

Sam laughed. He couldn't help himself. It was just...so strange. Everything about this boy was completely unexpected.

The youngster turned toward him, eyes going wide. Something about Sam's voice had sounded familiar, perhaps. Very few races laughed quite like a human. Zalyk's hand rested on Sam's back, urging him forward, and the prisoners parted to let him through until he faced the boy, still smiling. "Welcome to the dungeon, son."

The kid's eyes somehow got even wider. "Commander Holt!"

He snapped to attention, or something like it, arm rising to shade his face in a Galaxy Garrison salute. He swayed, though, and Sam reached out to grab his hand and pull it down, heart aching. As light as the kid was trying to make of it, Sam knew that his journey here had not been an easy one. This close, Sam could see the bruises on his cheek and his chin, the dark shadows under his eyes, the long cut that ran across his neck as if someone had held a knife there and was not careful.

"None of that, now," Sam said gently, folding the slim hand into his. The boy gripped back and stared into his face, still awed, still that shine in his eyes. "You know who I am? Are you...were you...a cadet? At the Garrison?"

The kid scoffed. "Of course I know who you are! Even if your name hadn't been splashed all over the news..." He bit his lip suddenly, cutting himself off, and looked away. Then back to Sam, as if unable to believe he was really here. "Yeah, I was a cadet. Long time ago, feels like. My name is Lance."

"Lance." He held his hand yet more carefully, more firmly. Sam felt the unexpected press of tears against his eyes. It was just...so unexpected. He had never thought to meet another human down here. He had never expected to see a human face or hold a hand like this one ever again. "It's good to meet you, son."

And. It was horribly, terribly selfish. But Sam was glad that neither Matt nor Shiro was here.

"Um...Commander Holt? Sir?" Lance's voice was sheepish.

"Please, call me Sam."

Lance blinked, but nodded easily enough. Depending on how long ago he'd left Earth, he might be used to being outside the Garrison's power structure. "Sam. Thanks. Could I...get my hand back, please?"

"Oh." Now Sam felt Lance's hand flexing in his, careful, not pulling away. Just reminding Sam that he was still holding it. "Ah, I must be making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry."

He let go, and Lance pulled his hand back and held it in the other. "No worries," he said weakly. "You've been out here for...a while, huh?"

Sam nodded. Still that press of tears on the back of his eyes, but he would not embarrass Lance by letting them fall. The boy had been through enough. He clearly looked up to Sam as an authority figure, maybe even a sort of hero, and Sam would be damned if he let him down.

"I think..." Sam's voice was thick. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

Lance nodded and looked around at all of the aliens watching him eagerly. The attention didn't seem to discomfit him at all. He smiled easily at all and sundry, then looked back to Sam. "I have a lot to tell you. A _lot._ I'm betting the Galra haven't let you know anything that's been going on lately, right? About the lion on Earth, and Shiro, and Voltron, and the Alteans. Any of that?"

The gasps in the crowd around them were answer enough. Lance looked around, an impish smile curving up his mouth. "Ha! I knew it. Oh, man, you guys. I have so much to tell you." He looked back to Sam and settled down, face going serious. "But I think I should tell you first."

Sam had not missed the way Lance said Shiro's name. As if he knew him. Sam's heart was in his throat, and he nodded. "I can't wait to hear it, son."

Their fellow prisoners were disappointed at having to wait to hear the news themselves—Sam could see it in their faces—but they didn't murmur. The group made way for Sam and Lance to tuck themselves into a corner where they could speak with as much privacy as the large, crowded room could afford. Sam lowered himself carefully to the ground, ignoring his aching knees, and Lance sat cross-legged in front of him. His hands were clasped in his lap, and his eyes were bright. He was all but vibrating with eagerness.

Sam gave him a nod and tried not to smile too obviously at this endearing boy. Lance was trying to be serious, so Sam needed to accept him in the same light. "All right. Go ahead."

Lance faltered. His face fell slightly, and he glanced away, then looked back to Sam. "Wow, there's...there's a lot. I don't know where to start."

"How about the beginning?" Sam offered. Lance was reminding him of Matt and Katie when they were excited about a project and wanted to share all the details with him at once. They both had a tendency to get tongue-tied and trip over their words. He'd found that offering a thread to grasp helped them untangle the ball of thoughts and ideas in their heads. "You said you were a cadet at the Garrison. How did you happen to leave?"

He braced himself, expecting to hear a story of alien abduction, trauma, and abuse. If the Galra had made it all the way to Earth to begin capturing humans for their endless expansion, things were a lot worse than he'd thought. But at least he would know for sure. He wouldn't have to speculate anymore.

But Lance did not seem haunted by the memory. He leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "Oh, man, it was so cool! It was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me! But...I think I need to back up a little from there, okay? See, yeah, I was a cadet. I got into the fighter pilot track, like I'd been dreaming of and working toward for a long, long time. My buddy Hunk was assigned to be my engineer. And my communications officer was this kid named Pidge Gunderson."

Sam didn't know where this was going, but he nodded affably. "Go on."

Lance leaned back, suddenly apprehensive. "Ah. She might be kind of mad I'm doing this. Probably want to tell you herself. But you'll find out anyway! So, yeah, uh. Pidge Gunderson. Not her real name."

Then Lance told him the rest.

Sam was stunned. From the first revelation (Katie snuck into Galaxy Garrison as a _boy?),_ he sat in silence and let Lance talk, eyes wide, mouth silent. He ceased to feel the cold of the rock beneath him, ceased to hear the quiet murmurs of the other prisoners trying to distract themselves from listening in. All he could see was Lance as he talked in a low, urgent voice, moving his hands to describe various actions, his expressive face showing excitement, fear, anger, heartbreak, and joy at the appropriate parts of the tale. All he could think about was the fact that both of his children were lost to him now, taken by opposite sides of a galactic war that had been waging for ten thousand years.

Lance was a sensitive boy. He picked up that Sam wasn't following the plot and slowed to a stop, his face worried. He sat back, hands falling on his knees, and tried to give Sam a reassuring smile. "So...yeah. That's it. Voltron is a giant awesome robot made up of five smaller, also awesome robots, and me and your daughter and Shiro and two other guys pilot it together. I...I'm sorry for springing all of this on you so suddenly, Commander Holt. Are you okay?"

Sam blinked, then smiled almost reflexively. He wasn't okay. Not remotely. But it would not do for him to worry this dear boy who had only meant to give him good news. Good news that there was a force for justice fighting in the universe, and his daughter was part of it. "I'm all right, son. Thank you for your thoughtfulness. And please, call me Sam."

"Ah. I'll try to remember." Lance rubbed the back of his head. "I just don't want to be disrespectful. You're a great man."

Sam shook his head. "Not so great out here. Just a prisoner of the Galra, that's all. Believe me, the best respect you can show me is to give me the honor of using my name instead of a title."

"If that's what you want. Sam." Lance smiled shyly. He seemed to understand that Sam needed some time and space to process, so he scooted back, his hands on the floor. "If it's okay, I'll tell everyone else now, all right? I think they'll all want to hear about Voltron."

"Yes, of course."

Sam watched silently, feeling detached, as Lance took the floor in the middle of the crowd again. He began to talk, slowly at first, then pick up in animation and expressiveness. The prisoners surrounding him reacted with great emotion, gaping and wringing their hands and in all ways focusing every last bit of attention they had on the young human. Lance soaked up the energy and returned it, his smile growing wider and wider.

His voice rose and modulated. His hands lifted and waved and formed shapes in the air. He moved from place to place, describing positions in some sort of battle or physical contest. He bunched his hands together then burst them out in an explosion, fingers wiggling. He laughed and roared and shouted and whimpered, but he never mumbled.

The crowd ate it up. Lance was performing for them, turning his own history into a dramatic story, and they loved it. There was laughter, applause. Tears, gasps. Starry eyes and broad smiles, expressions of wonder and delight in all of the various ways their bodies could show it.

Sam watched. He didn't hear a word. But he watched, and he thanked whoever was listening for the gift of this boy, so warm and bright in this dark, hopeless place. Sam was almost too jaded to feel hope, but as he watched Lance tell his story and listened to the tone of his voice, he felt something stir in his chest despite his efforts to quell it.

Maybe it was true. Lance believed it, that was clear. He believed hard enough for a hundred others, so it should be enough for Sam, too. Lance believed that rescue was coming, that his friends were on the way, that Voltron would crush this prison and scatter the enemy and bring them all home. Most of the prisoners were entirely taken in by his vision, morale raising to the rafters, though there were always a few holdouts so beaten down by the darkness of their circumstances that they could only respond to hope with cynicism and to encouragement with barbs.

Sam didn't want to be one of them. Certainly not. He didn't quite believe Lance, not yet. But for the first time in a very long time, he wanted to. He wanted to believe.

For now, he would let Lance carry him.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, Lance made a concerted effort to get to know every single prisoner trapped in this awful place with him. He was an endless font of questions, wanting to know where everyone was from, who their friends and family were, what their culture was like, the things they missed the most. He made a particular effort with the female prisoners, and he seemed to have a knack for picking up which qualities each species considered to be attractive and complimenting those. By and large, the ladies bloomed and blushed under this treatment. It had been a long time since anyone had flirted with them, even the gentle, almost childish flirting Lance indulged in.

Males were not immune to this treatment, either, but Lance was a bit more circumspect with them. Sam got the feeling that it wasn't because he was ashamed of complimenting males, but because he was attempting to be respectful of social mores. The universe was enormous, though, and not every species had the same gender norms as Earth. Most of them didn't. Lance treaded carefully, but once he knew his attentions would not be rebuffed, he sailed on with heartfelt cheer and boundless enthusiasm.

Lance seemed to flourish like this, surrounded by dozens of folks who hung on his every word. The Galra were cruel, but at least they didn't lock up children in this terrible place, not even important ones. Lance was the youngest prisoner by far. He was a novelty, a breath of fresh air and a glimpse of sunshine below the ground. In less than a day, he had been adopted as a combination mascot, baby, and pet by ninety percent of the prison's population.

Lance spent a lot of time with Sam, too. Sam could usually be found sitting by the wall or in a corner, conserving the strength that continually drained out of him in this lightless prison. Whenever Lance wearied of the constant attention and needed a recharge, he came and sat next to Sam. The other prisoners respected his retreat, for the most part. They weren't allowed individual cells, unless they were being punished with solitary confinement, so they all staked out personal areas that the others made an effort to leave alone.

Lance was content to sit in silence with Sam, usually. Sometimes he hummed or tapped his fingers on his legs, shifting restlessly but trying to be unobtrusive about it. Sometimes he tried to strike up a conversation, but if Sam only responded with polite monosyllables, he let it drop. Sam found his company pleasant, if a bit jarring at first. It was strange to have such a young, energetic person choosing to spend time with him, especially one who wasn't his son or daughter. It made sense, though, that Lance would seek out the presence of the only other human in this place, especially one he had once looked up to, and perhaps still did.

A few days in, though, Sam looked a little more closely into Lance's face when he came to sit next to him, and he didn't like what he saw. Lance's greeting smile was less airy and effortless now, and his face was paler than it had been when he arrived, the dark rings around his eyes deeper. Lance was keeping up a good front, playing morale officer for dozens and dozens of aliens he'd never met before, but the strain was starting to show.

Sam scooted a little closer and bowed his head to speak softly to the boy. "How have you been sleeping, Lance?"

All of the prisoners were forced to simply lay down on the benches and floors when night came, with not even close to enough blankets and pillows to cushion them. The last couple of nights, Sam had been separated from Lance when the guards put the lights out and plunged them all into pitch darkness, and they hadn't tried to find each other, instead simply curling up with whoever was close. The guards kept an irregular schedule for the lights, so the prisoners were always off balance, unsure of when night or day would arrive. Sam didn't know if there was some cruel reason for it, some theory of control and subjugation, or if it was just because the guards enjoyed using their petty power over the helpless people here.

Lance shrugged and offered up a small smile. "Fine. I cuddled up with Braxia last night, the big one over there?" He pointed, and Sam nodded. "Seriously, like an Angora teddy bear. It was awesome."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "But did you sleep, son? I know you're doing your best to keep everyone's spirits up, keep them all expecting Voltron to come, and that's a fine thing to do, truly. I can't even explain how much of a difference you've made here in just a few days. But you don't have to keep it up for me, you know. I already know that my Katie will come for her old man."

He told himself that was true. He was getting closer to believing it.

Lance tilted his chin up, looking at Sam thoughtfully. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Indulge me." Sam leaned a little closer and bumped Lance's shoulder with his own. "I'm a dad. And I've worked with more young whippersnappers than you can shake a stick at. I'm allowed to worry."

Lance wrinkled his nose. "Sometimes I think you use those old-fashioned expressions just to mess with me."

Sam chuckled gently. "Maybe so. Still, the question stands. Are you sleeping well?"

Lance wavered. Sam could see the hesitation on his face, the need to let go, the opposing need to be strong. Poor kid. He was far too heroic, far too self-sacrificing. Just giving and giving, all day long, that was all Sam had seen from the moment Lance first arrived here.

But he was so young. Just a kid. He should be a cadet back at the Garrison, worried about tests and simulation scores and whether that cute classmate liked him or not, not about saving the universe and keeping up the morale of a hundred aliens from dozens of species, all much older than him. It was too much for a kid. Too much for anyone.

"C'mon," Sam said softly. He reached out, put his arm around Lance's back, and pulled him in. "You can rest. You don't have to be a hero every second of every day. You're allowed to be scared and sad. You're allowed to be just Lance, here with me."

Lance stiffened, trembling against Sam's side for a moment, then abruptly surrendered. His head slumped over to rest on Sam's shoulder, and a long sigh whispered out of his mouth as his entire body went limp. Sam brought over his other hand and combed it through the boy's hair, marveling silently at how soft it was.

"You're okay," he murmured. "You're okay, you're okay, everything's okay."

It wasn't true. Not even close. But while Sam was trying his hardest to believe Lance, Lance seemed to have no trouble at all believing Sam. He relaxed into Sam's side, letting himself be supported, and his eyes closed. Sam kept stroking his hair, and not long after that, Lance's breaths deepened as he fell into an easy slumber. Sam's heart swelled with affection. It reminded him of when Matt and Katie were tiny, the way they would fall asleep anywhere, how good it had felt to hold the limp, warm bundles of their sleeping bodies.

They stayed like that until Lance woke, hours later.

After that it was like the ice had been broken, and Lance seemed much more comfortable and at ease with him. He called him "Sam" without being reminded, and he relaxed in a way he couldn't with anyone else. Sam also felt that he had a job, now, and he pursued it to the best of his ability. While Lance worked with all his heart on getting to know the other prisoners and encouraging them to hold on till Voltron came, Sam took it as his responsibility to make sure that Lance himself was doing okay. Or as okay as he could be, considering the circumstances. He talked to the boy more openly and easily, sharing stories about himself and his family to take the pressure off Lance to talk, and also asked more questions.

"Why is it so important to you that you get to know all of the people here?" he asked one day, after watching Lance spend an entire morning trying to converse with a shy Iykosian who usually kept herself separate from the group. "You're putting a lot of effort into it, and it's admirable, but I'm not sure I understand why you're so determined about it."

Lance shrugged. "I just... I want things to be easier for them when we get rescued. We, Voltron, we've freed planets before, even rescued large groups of prisoners from the Galra. Whenever there's an influx of people like that to the ship, they're always confused and disoriented at first and have a hard time trusting us. I don't blame them, ever, but it's hard to help someone who doesn't even want to tell you the name of their planet. So I guess I see this as...an opportunity. Voltron is gonna rescue us, I know it, but I got in here early. So I have a chance to earn everyone's trust as an equal, another prisoner who's in the same position they are, instead of as a powerful and mildly terrifying warrior from outer space. It'll make things easier later. I know the Princess will appreciate the help with the diplomacy stuff, anyway, and I would do basically anything for the Princess."

Sam nodded and smiled. "That's very sweet of you, Lance." He should have figured the reason would be something like that.

Lance shrugged and blushed, looking away with a tiny smile. "It's no big deal. Better than being bored, anyway. Sure is taking them long enough to get here. I wonder what the hold-up is."

Sam frowned, but he didn't follow up on that thought. Lance was working hard to keep that certainty of rescue alive in his heart, and Sam would do anything he could to protect that. With each passing day, though, it got harder.

Then came a day when Lance's face was tired from the moment the lights came on and roused them all from sleep. His smiles were strained, his voice was quiet, and his words to the other prisoners were shorter and more rote than usual. He didn't single someone out and start asking them questions the way he had every day up till now.

Sam wasn't surprised when Lance meandered over to his corner and sat down with him. Lance's shoulders were drooping, his expression bleak. He looked exhausted, and Sam could see it. Everything had caught up to the boy at last.

Sam didn't say a word, just put his arm around Lance's shoulders and pulled him in to lean on him. Lance didn't say anything for a while. He lay against Sam's side, limp and weary, his breath slow and controlled. Sam raised his hand to brush over Lance's forehead, and his temperature seemed normal, so at least he wasn't getting sick. Not physically, anyway. Heartsickness was more likely.

"I don't get what's taking so long," Lance murmured. His voice was almost inaudible. He was trying to make sure no one else heard.

Sam leaned in a little closer to him and pressed the side of his chin to Lance's bowed forehead. "They're coming," he said just as quietly. "Your team is coming for you. They'll be here soon."

"Yeah." Lance heaved a sigh. "I just... I can sort of feel Blue, through this mystical mind link we have or whatever, and I know she misses me, and she wants to get to me. But she feels so far away. I really...I really want her to come."

"I know," Sam murmured. He cupped his hand around Lance's forehead and tucked him in tighter against his neck. "It's okay to be worried."

Lance made a frustrated noise. "I don't _want_ to be worried. I want to _know."_

"And you do," Sam said stalwartly. "You know she's coming. You just don't know when, that's all. But the lions...you said they're incredibly old, right? Ancient. Maybe they have a different sense of timescale than we do. It might seem to Blue like she's getting to you right away, while to you it feels like it's taking much longer."

Lance hummed. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course it does. I'm a scientist, you know."

Lance huffed and leaned against him even more heavily. "Yeah. Pidge got her brains somewhere."

"Mostly from her mom," Sam said gently. "But some from me."

Sam felt Lance smile, slow and reluctant but still there. It was good. It was good to be able to lighten this situation for this young man, however slightly.

Lance leaned against Sam for most of the day, gathering strength. Sam accommodated him as best he could, though here, as in a lot of other things, he was in uncharted water. Matt and Katie had never been quite this clingy, even when they were sick or distressed. But Lance was a different person, and whatever he needed, Sam would do his best to provide.

Unfortunately, Lance was not the only one who wanted to know what was taking Blue so long. It was later that same day, and Lance was still leaning limply into Sam's side, his eyes dull and listless as Sam swept his fingers gently through his hair. A commotion at the doors of the cell made Sam tense and raise his head, though Lance barely reacted.

The deep, threatening tones of a Galra put Sam's teeth on edge, and he wrapped his arms tighter around Lance and pulled him against his body. He didn't know what the guards wanted, but their presence in the cell when it wasn't time for rations was never good. Occasionally they would come in and remove one prisoner or another, then bring them back beaten and bloody or otherwise messed up, sometimes near death. Sometimes the prisoner was then locked in an isolation cell so the other prisoners couldn't offer even what poor comfort they had to provide. Sometimes it happened more once.

The prisoners were almost never killed, Sam knew that much. They were all too important. They were being kept alive here for a reason. But those prisoners who had people still waiting for them might be punished, tortured, and their agony recorded in order to keep those on the outside in good behavior. Sometimes it seemed more random, just cruelty for the sake of cruelty, for the sake of keeping the rest of the prisoners subdued. Sam didn't know what was going on this time, but his stomach churned with dread.

"Where is he?" A Galra demanded, kicking and prodding at the prisoners near him with a flexible rod that whistled through the air like a whip. This wasn't one of the usual guards. A commander of some sort? "Where is the boy?"

They all knew who he was talking about. Sam sucked in a breath and held Lance even tighter, but they had nowhere to hide. Lance looked up, then, finally realizing that something was happening. He looked toward the door and saw the Galra commander flanked by two guards coming this way, pointed silently toward their corner by several resigned prisoners.

"Sam..." Lance murmured, a tremble deep in his voice. "What...what's happening?"

"I don't know," Sam murmured, his hand wrapped vice-like around the boy's shoulder, clenching him to his body. "Just...don't fight, whatever this is. Don't sass them. I know that's your natural state, but you must not. Don't make this worse."

Lance didn't have time to answer. The Galra reached them, looming ominously above Sam and Lance huddling in the corner.

"Boy!" the one with the rod barked. "Paladin! Where is your lion?"

Lance blinked up at him. "You mean...Blue? The lion of Voltron?"

"You know what I mean!" The commander brandished his weapon threateningly but didn't strike him with it. "What is taking the lion so long to come for you?"

Sam could barely breathe. He had seen the guards come for other prisoners, but they'd never come after him. He was terrified, and he was ashamed of his terror. He wished he could shove Lance back in the corner behind him and shield him with his body. It wouldn't do any good, but he still wished he could do it, that he could offer even the flimsiest scrap of protection. But he couldn't. He couldn't even move.

Lance, for his part, shook his head in sincere confusion. "I have no idea, dude. I thought she would be here a while ago, honest."

The commander growled, then reached down and grabbed Lance by the forearm. He pulled him to his feet, ripping him out of Sam's arms as if all of his strength was worthless, meaningless. Which it was, truly. Sam scrambled to his feet beside them, but he was shaking so hard that even that was difficult.

The commander yelled in Lance's face, spraying him with spittle as the boy winced and turned his head, cringing away. "You have a bond with your lion, do you not? Call for it! _Scream_ for it to come, if that is what is required!"

"I've been trying!" Lance protested. "For real, do you think I would stay here one second longer than I could help it? I've been praying for Blue to come all day long, every single day, and she's still not here! What else am I supposed to do?"

The commander paused. He shook Lance like a rag doll, hanging almost limp in his grasp. He didn't shake him that hard. It was almost curious. He stared down at Lance, his head tilted. "Really? You've been calling your lion this entire time?"

Lance nodded frantically. "Yeah, of course! If I could do anything else, I would." Then he paused, hanging in the commander's grip as his chest heaved. "Wait...why do you _want_ Blue to come?"

Sam's breath stuttered just as Lance's did. Oh no.

It was a trap. It was all a trap.

The commander held Lance still in his fist and bent his head closer to him, a strong whuff of air through his nose blowing Lance's hair back from his face. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, nose wrinkling at the smell of his breath. "If you truly have been calling your lion, and it still hasn't come, perhaps you aren't trying hard enough."

Lance's chest hitched. He lifted his other hand and grabbed at the massive fingers wrapped like steel bands around his wrist, desperately trying to loosen them. "Let me go, let me go, I won't... I won't..."

The commander grunted in decision. "Yes. That is the answer. You need to try harder."

"I won't, no no no, I won't, I _won't..."_

A smile, slow and sharp and vicious, and Sam stopped breathing. "We will make you scream."

They took Lance away. All Sam could do was sink to the floor and hide his face in his hands so he wouldn't have to watch. But he could still hear. He heard Lance protesting, voice high and panicked, all the way to the door and down the hall.

"I won't, I won't, I won't I won't I _won't..."_

But Sam knew he would.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam paced back and forth by the doors of the communal cell, waiting for them to bring Lance back. He strained his ears, but he couldn't hear anything beyond the thick metal door between the cell antechamber and the hallway. Sam's hand kept rising to grip in his hair, pulling painfully at his scalp. He couldn't stop remembering that moment in the corner, how frozen he had felt when that powerful Galra and the two guards loomed over him and Lance. He should have done something more than just sit there. Anything. Anything at all. It wouldn't have made any difference to the outcome, but at least Lance would have known that Sam cared about him enough to try.

For God's sake, he had told the boy not to be _sassy._ As if that had anything to do with...as if it would... And Lance hadn't been, really, though Sam supposed an ugly enough mind might have interpreted Lance's first few responses as insolent. Anyone who understood human tone and body language would have seen that Lance was too depressed and weary for anything like resistance, but it was unlikely that the Galra commander cared about nuance. Sam's shoulders shook, remembering that rod-like weapon the commander had held his hands. Were they...were they...

"Sam." A quiet voice, a touch on his shoulder from Zalyk. Sam stopped pacing and looked up. He heard a noise at the door to the hall. Then it opened, and two guards dragged Lance inside.

His head was down, and he didn't even try to carry his own weight, letting his feet trail on the ground as he was hauled by the guards who held his arms in a bruising grip. Sam and other prisoners waiting at the bars stepped back before the guards could make them, and they opened the cell door and tossed Lance inside in an unceremonious heap.

As soon as the door shut and the lock clanked, Sam and the others rushed forward. Sam got his hand under Lance's arm, and on the other side was Braxia, the big, furry Yuven Lance had likened to a teddy bear. Lance jerked at the first touch, a startled gasp bursting from him, and Sam hesitated for a moment, then reaffirmed his grip and lifted a little harder. "C'mon, son," he murmured, soft as he dared. "C'mon, sit up, let's have a look at you."

Lance let himself be helped to a sitting position, groaning as the movement jarred his body. Braxia whuffled through his snout-like nose in unmistakable concern and positioned himself behind him, providing a soft surface for Lance to lean back on. Lance winced and moaned, but let himself be shifted by the several pairs of hands on him, head lolling on Braxia's barrel-like chest. He ended up reclining back on the furry alien as if he was an armchair, his limbs loose and his eyes almost shut, his face tight with pain.

Sam knelt in front of him, holding Lance's hands in both of his and searching his face as if he were a book he desperately needed to read. "Lance." He put a hefty dollop of urgency in his voice, hoping for a response. "Can you hear me? Can you talk? We need to know what happened. Are you bleeding anywhere? Is there something we can do?"

Lance grunted, and his eyes fluttered half-open and stared at Sam, dully at first. Then he seemed to come back to himself, and a slow, exhausted smile grew on his face. "Hey, Sam." His voice was soft, weary, but astonishingly bright and pleased.

"Hey, Lance." Sam felt breathless, the air punched out of him. Another surprise. Would this child never stop surprising him? He chuckled, short and painful, and squeezed Lance's hands. "What's so funny, kiddo?"

"I didn't scream." Lance grinned loopily. He was out of it, but he was also proud of himself. "The guy...Bulgo...he said he would make me scream, but I didn't. I didn't scream."

Sam squeezed his hands again, tight and convulsive. His heart felt eaten out of his chest with acid. "What did he do to you, Lance? Please tell me. What did Bulgo do?"

Lance shrugged, barely a shift of his shoulders against Braxia's bulk, then groaned and let his eyes flutter almost shut. Moving had been a mistake. "It wasn't a big deal. He didn't even make me bleed. Just hit me a lot with that stick of his. He really, uh...really likes that thing."

Sam couldn't speak, couldn't even begin to express his rage and sorrow and useless sympathy. Lance opened his eyes a little more and looked at him. "Sam, I'm fine. Promise. Bulgo said, they...they know how to cause pain without causing damage. And that...that's true. They wanted to make me scream, not make me die. It's fine. It was just a...just a whipping with a stick."

But he shuddered at the end of that statement, and Sam couldn't stop the sudden tears that slipped down his cheeks. Braxia's huge arms closed around Lance's torso, cradling him gently, and Zalyk and the other prisoners crouching with them on the ground swore and moaned and ground their teeth. One of them began to cry, muffled but unashamed.

They all loved Lance. So much. Sam too.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, Lance."

Lance sighed and let his eyes fall shut. "It's fine. Really. I didn't scream. I didn't call out to Blue. I even...while they were doing that...I did everything I could to try to shut the bond down from my side. Don't know how well it worked, but I tried. Don't want my girl to get ambushed trying to save me. Not the way it's supposed to go."

The pride in his voice was overwhelming. Sam had to allow him that, even though every particle of him wanted to yell at Lance that he _should_ scream, he _should_ call out for his lion, his friends. He needed to be rescued. He didn't deserve this, any of this, and Voltron needed to come and save him. Sam knew Lance's team would agree. Shiro and Katie, for certain, would much rather walk deliberately into a trap than allow someone they cared about to suffer, and if the rest of them were the heroes Lance talked about so glowingly, they all would feel the same.

Lance shifted, suppressing a wince, and glanced at the cell door a few feet away. "Could we...move?"

Sam squeezed his hands, then climbed to his feet, his knees aching. "Of course, son. Let's get you somewhere you can rest."

Braxia did not let Lance walk. He stood up, lifting Lance in his arms as if he was a small child, and carried him back to Sam's accustomed corner. He settled down there, still holding Lance, back to the rest of the room so Lance wouldn't have to work so hard to keep up a brave face for everyone else. Lance let his pain show then, breathing hard and closing his eyes to keep from making a noise. He turned sideways against Braxia's chest and curled up, knees drawn toward his chest, to take some of the pressure off his sore back and legs, and Braxia shifted to support him. Sam next to them, a hand on Lance's arm.

When the guards brought the prisoners' rations that night, there was none for Lance. Sam had been worried that Lance might be in too much pain to have an appetite, but that turned out not to be a problem. Usually the guards brought the food in a few bins and left the prisoners to sort it out amongst themselves, not caring if some took more than they were due or stole from others.

But today, the prisoners were told to sit on the floor and wait. Three guards, one carrying the food bins, one handing out food, and one holding another flexible rod, moved around the room and fed a few prisoners at the time. They handed out a small hand-sized loaf of what Sam called "prison bread," full of nutrients but mostly bland, with a bitter aftertaste. The guards stood over the eating prisoners until they finished, then moved on to the next group. And when they came to the back corner where Sam, Braxia, Zalyk, and a couple of others were shielding Lance, they handed food to everyone but Lance.

Sam did protest this time, though it was meek. "Ex...excuse me. I don't mean to be rude, but did you forget someone?" He gestured at Lance, who was laying limply against Braxia, his eyes almost shut as he tried to accept the waves of pain still rolling over him.

The guard with the rod sneered at him, then cast a contemptuous glance over Lance. "The Blue Paladin will not eat. Commander's orders."

Sam was almost dizzied by the injustice of this. "He...he's injured. He needs nutrients to recover. I thought you didn't want him to die."

"No death. Only pain." The guard kicked Lance's foot. Lance whimpered and pulled his leg closer to his body, but didn't otherwise protest. "The Blue Paladin must suffer. And none of you are permitted to save your food for him, either. Eat. We will watch you."

And they stood there, staring, as Sam and his fellow prisoners silently consumed their rations. The prison loaf tasted worse than usual, like ashes on Sam's tongue, thick and bitter and choking. But it would do Lance no good for him to refuse to eat in solidarity or some other fool-headed idea. He needed to be strong to take care of the boy as much as he could, especially if their captors intended to deliberately weaken him.

At least water was freely available to anyone who needed it, spigots placed in several locations around the common area and about a dozen sturdy cups floating amongst the prisoners. Perhaps dehydration was too dangerous a torture to attempt, even for these monstrous sadists. Sam or one of the others would fetch some water for Lance as soon as he even seemed to want it.

Still. To deprive a growing youngster of food. It made Sam sick to his soul. He couldn't even look at Lance while he ate his bread, then held out his empty hand to show that it was gone.

The guard nodded in satisfaction, and they moved on. Only then did Sam look to Lance, but the boy's eyes were fully shut, and his breathing seemed more smooth and controlled. Sam leaned closer to him, looking into his face, and reached up to brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead. His hair was getting longer, framing his face and accentuating how young he was.

"Lance," Sam murmured. "Are you awake? You don't have to answer. You can sleep, if that's what you're doing."

Lance released a soft breath and opened his eyes, just a crack. "Almost," he muttered.

"Okay." Sam brushed his fingers over his forehead. Still no sign of fever, yet. "That's fine, son. You go to sleep. We'll be here with you."

"Mmkay." Lance blinked dazedly. He snuggled into Braxia's fur, finding a more comfortable spot. And he gave Sam a smile, soft and sleepy. "Don't look so sad, Sam."

Sam's breath hitched. He rested his hand on Lance's head. "I can't help it, sweetheart. I'm sad that this is happening to you. I'm sad you were beaten like that, and I'm sad they didn't let you eat."

Lance's shoulder lifted in a careful shrug. "'Sfine. I wasn't hungry, anyway."

"I know. It still isn't fair."

"Yeah." Lance sighed and let his eyes slide shut, his body going limp. "But y'know that...this is gonna get worse, right? Gonna get a lot worse. So...gotta appreciate what I can. 'M glad 'm here with you guys tonight. Glad they brought me back. Glad they didn't just...keep me strapped to that table."

Sam's throat was almost too tight for speech. "Yes, I... I suppose I'm glad for that, too. Glad you're here with us."

"Yeah. 'Sfine, Sam. Gonna be fine. I'm strong. I can hold out."

Sam couldn't speak for a moment. His voice was gone, fallen on the floor. He ran his hand through Lance's hair. "Go to sleep, son." Barely a whisper.

"Yes, Commander." Lance's voice faded, then he did, too.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, they didn't feed him. Again. Again, the guards stood over the prisoners, watching them eat until all of the rations were gone. Someone tried to palm a loaf, the shy Iykosian Lance had befriended, and she was whipped with the rod twice on the shoulders for her trouble. No one else tried.

"I'm fine," Lance told everyone. He was walking, though slowly. He went around the room and spoke to anyone who would listen. "I'm fine. Don't get hurt for my sake. Don't worry about me. I'm a paladin of Voltron. I can handle it."

Before long, he came to sit with Sam and Braxia in the corner and let himself be sandwiched between them. Sam wrapped his arm around him and pulled him in. He could hear the boy's stomach growling. It made him want to punch the wall, but he just held him tighter.

"This isn't the worst, Sam," Lance said, still putting a brave front up even for him. "I'm okay."

After that, instead of Lance walking around to talk to the other prisoners, they came to the corner to meet him. Everyone kept wanting to check on him and make sure he was okay. He asked questions, asked for stories. Mythology, children's tales, history, anything. It seemed to take his mind off things. He closed his eyes, leaning on Sam or Braxia, and listened. If the story ever started to flag, the speaker faltering, thinking he might be asleep, he opened his eyes and asked them to continue. And they did.

Sam learned more about his fellow prisoners and their cultures this way than he'd ever thought to find out for himself. He was ashamed he hadn't thought to get to know them before. But then, before Lance came, Sam had been too tired, too beaten down, too consumed with despair to look outside himself much. Lance seemed to gather energy from being around others, listening to others, so he reached out in ways Sam never had.

Lance drank a lot of water, trying to fill up his belly with something, anything. It helped, a little, or so he said. But that meant he had to relieve himself more often, which meant walking slowly to one of the commodes in the alcoves off the main communal area, painfully stripping off the full-body suit, then putting it back on when he was done. Sam stood outside the opening of the alcove, shielding him from the view of the rest of the room, but he couldn't help glancing in when Lance's back was too him. Lance was striped and bruised from his neck all the way down, past where Sam could see. No wonder he was moving slowly.

In the afternoon, the Galra took him away and beat him again. Lance didn't give Sam or anyone else a chance to try to step in front him. He stood up and walked to the door to meet the guards when he saw them coming.

"This isn't the worst," he said again, afterwards, leaning limply into Braxia's chest while Zalyk carefully massaged his arms and legs, stiff from being strapped in place for too long. He was shaking, exhausted and agonized. He had a fat lip and a bruise next to his eye from slamming into a doorway. The guards were not being gentle with him when they dragged him around. "It isn't, Sam. It isn't the worst."

He needed to believe it. The rest of them had to help him.

Sam sat facing him, gently running his fingers through his hair and forcing back his own tears. Lance refused to cry. Sam shouldn't either. He needed to keep up a positive face, needed to feed Lance's strength with his own. So he smiled, though he knew it was shaky.

"I'm proud of you, Lance," he said. "I'm so, so proud. You're so brave. So strong. We're so lucky to have you with us, even though I wish you were anywhere but here. I wish you weren't going through this right now, but since you are, I'm proud to be with you."

Lance closed his eyes. "Thank you."

No evening rations for him that day, either.

The next day, they made him bleed.

"It's still not the worst," he whispered to Sam. It was getting harder to agree.

There were not nearly enough blankets and pillows among the population for all of the people imprisoned here, but several had been donated to their corner. Lance was lying naked on his stomach, cushioned as well as they could do it, while Zalyk cleaned his cuts with a damp rag. All they had was water, no antiseptic, no soothing cream, but they did what they could. Lance had been beaten viciously from his neck to his feet for three days in a row.

This was superficial damage. Bruises, cuts. Sam knew the Galra could do worse. They wanted to cause pain, not damage. But they were causing a lot of pain. These cuts were unlikely to scar, but if they kept going...

And Sam knew they were going to. He knew they were going to keep doing this until they got what they wanted.

He sat there by Lance's upper body. Held his hand. Stroked his hair. "You're doing fine, son," he murmured. "You're doing a good job."

Lance glowed. It was the only word for it. Exhausted, starving, beaten bloody, skin so sore and swollen that he could barely stand the weight of cloth, he smiled up at Sam with a bright, beaming smile that still lit everything it touched, even now.

Afterward, Lance couldn't bear to put the black prison suit back on. It was too tight, pressed too hard on his wounds. They fashioned a crude pair of drawstring pants for him from a thin blanket and threads pulled from the corner, sewn with a needle worn from a splinter of bone. Sam didn't ask where the bone came from. He didn't want to know.

Lance was strangely invested in the sewing process, giving instructions on how to do it and leaning over to watch with an avid gaze. His arm was too cramped from the restraints to pull the needle himself. He was weaker, too, because of the lack of food, a constant tremor in his hands, his body. The Galra were quickly wearing him out. It had only been three days, but Sam did not know how long this could go on.

Lance curled up in a sitting position between Braxia and Zalyk, propped between two furry bodies to provide as much warmth as possible. Sam draped all the blankets they had over the three of them and slept nearby. Tried to sleep, anyway.

The next day, it was worse. Lance could barely walk even before the daily beating. They still hadn't fed him. When they brought him back and dumped him on the floor, Zalyk cleaned his wounds again, all the old ones reopened and new ones added, and Sam held his hand. Lance was dazed and silent, enduring the treatment as if he was still being beaten. His breath hitched when Zalyk hit a bad spot, but he didn't otherwise react. He was trying not to scream. Before, he had been willing at least to whimper and moan when he was with them. He was losing track of where he was.

"Still not the worst," he murmured when he came out of that state of shock, sometime later. Sam was holding him, then, unwilling to let Braxia do it. He needed to cradle Lance with his own arms, needed to listen to him breathe. "I still didn't scream."

"I'm proud of you," Sam whispered. "But you can scream if you have to. No one would blame you."

"Nope. Not gonna do it."

Still that stubbornness. Still that strength. Sam had to allow it.

The days began to blend together. Sam lost track of how many beatings Lance had endured, how many times he and the others had done their best to clean his cuts with only water and a ragged cloth. Lance grew weaker, but held on to his resolve, somehow, by the edge of his fingernails. He had already lost weight on the short rations of the prison, but now he lost more.

He moved very little, trying to conserve energy, and when he did, he got dizzy and had to close his eyes, swallowing against the nausea. He slept more and more, rolled on his side with his forehead pressed against Sam's hip or balled up in Braxia or Zalyk or Sam's lap. Sam spent every moment that he could at the boy's side, sometimes talking, sometimes stroking his hair, sometimes holding his hand, sometimes just sitting there. Their friends helped, too, offering the little comfort they could, but it was never enough.

Every afternoon, they came for him again. They beat him. They brought him back bloody and limp and dumped him on the floor. Lance suffered. And suffered. And suffered. And still, he did not scream.

One night, a new rumor started. A druid was coming. Someone skilled in torture and interrogation. They all knew why.

Sam missed being able to put his arm around the boy and pull him to his side without fear of hurting him. It was such a simple thing, nothing he had ever thought he would miss, but now he did. The Galra had taken even such simple comforts away from Lance, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

The best he could do was lie on his back on a blanket and let Lance lie face down across him, chest to chest, Lance's legs trailing to the side and his face buried in Sam's shoulder. Sam held his upper arm with one hand. With his other hand, he petted Lance's head, over and over again. It was as close as he could get to a hug without putting pressure on his wounds.

Lance relaxed. His breath evened out. Sam knew he wasn't asleep, though, with the way he kept shifting, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. It didn't exist. It was too soon after the most recent beating for the pain to have receded or numbed.

So Sam told him a story, too.

"Your team is going to come for you, Lance. Doesn't matter what trap the Galra set for them, doesn't matter how they try to stop them. Your lion is going to tear through every obstacle, and everyone else will be right behind her. They'll come in here, shooting their lasers and swinging their swords. Katie will hack every computer system. Shiro will take down every guard. Keith and Hunk will shoot and fight. They'll never stop until they find you.

"They're searching for you right now, and they have been ever since you were captured. They miss you like crazy. You are a bright, beautiful presence in their lives, and having you gone is like missing sunshine. They miss your voice, your jokes, your laughter, everything about you. They want you back, and they'll do anything it takes to find you."

He was fully prepared to keep going in this vein until Lance was able to sleep. Lance had talked at length about how amazing his team was and all the wonderful things they could do, so he had a lot of material to work with. He was surprised when Lance stirred, then sluggishly turned his head so he could speak.

"No." His voice was exhausted, but he sounded certain of himself.

Sam's hand stilled in the boy's hair. He had never suspected that Lance might object to any of this. Perhaps he hadn't heard him correctly. "No what, Lance? Your team won't come in, fighting and shooting? They won't do whatever it takes to get you back?"

Lance shifted, breath pausing as he forced down a moan. "No, I...know they will... But...you're exaggerating."

"Which part? You talked a lot about your team, so I feel like I know them pretty well."

"No. They're all...amazing. But me... I'm not sunshine."

Sam almost chuckled, but held himself still so he wouldn't jostle the boy. He started stroking his hair again, slow and careful. "Well, not literally, of course." Poor kid had to be pretty out of it.

Lance grunted miserably. "Not metaphorically, either."

Okay. Perhaps he wasn't that out of it. Sam frowned. "I think I know you pretty well, too. You've been here for a while now. You are most certainly metaphorical sunshine."

"No." Lance huffed out a pained breath and stopped trying to move, going still against Sam again. "I'm annoying. I mess things up and...and get in the way."

Sam instantly wanted to argue. Wanted to dispute that absolutely, tell the boy that he was not annoying, that he never got in the way. But he went still, listening. Lance sounded lucid, even calm. He didn't have a fever. The words were self-deprecating, but the tone was utterly factual. He truly, deeply believed this, and a flat rebuttal was not going to convince him otherwise.

It occurred to Sam that he had not yet observed Lance with his team. He had listened to him talk, and he had seen the way he was with the other prisoners, but he didn't know how he acted with his peers. Lance's voice could be loud, sometimes deliberately grating, and he did take pleasure in tweaking the guards. At least, he had before the daily beatings started. Maybe he was annoying with his friends, perhaps even deliberately so. He probably enjoyed riling them up to get a reaction out of them. He liked attention, always soaked it up—maybe he sought it in childish ways like teasing people and being comically clumsy.

But Sam still believed every single word he'd said about how much Lance's team missed him and how much they wanted him back.

"Hmm." Sam did not dismiss Lance's words. He laid his hand flat against the side of his head, holding him pressed to his shoulder. It was the closest he could get to a hug right now without aggravating his wounds. "I suppose that might be true. I haven't seen you with your teammates. Maybe you annoy them, maybe you mess things up. But that doesn't preclude you from also being sunshine for them, you know. Both things can be true simultaneously."

Lance was quiet for a long, long moment. "That sounds really smart."

Sam snorted very gently. "How many times do I have to tell you, sweetheart? I _am_ really smart."

"Sure." Lance blew out a soft sigh and relaxed against him. "Still doesn't mean I'm metaphorical sunshine. Ever."

"I told you. I know you. You've been here for a while now. You are, absolutely and without a doubt, metaphorical sunshine. You can ask anyone here."

"You shouldn't believe everything you see. I've been trying really hard to be a hero."

"I know." Lance had been trying so, so hard, from the very moment he stepped in here. Everyone knew it. Everyone could see it. "You've been succeeding."

Lance went quiet again, but his breathing started to turn ragged.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. His voice was as soft as he could make it. "It's okay. You're okay. Everything's okay."

Lance cried, very softly, turning his head to sniffle on Sam's shoulder. Not from the pain, the hunger, the fear, the degradation. He cried because Sam told him nothing but the truth, that he was a hero and he brightened the lives of everyone around him.

The next day, the druid arrived. The guards came to drag Lance away earlier than usual. Some prisoners tried to stand in the way, Braxia, Zalyk, Kiran, but were beaten back. Sam tightened his grip on Lance, holding him hard enough to hurt, but they tore him from his grasp. He jumped to his feet and followed after, cursing, only to slam into the bars when they shut the door.

Lance did not resist. Not even a little bit. He was limp in their hold, unable to walk, but he didn't try to fight back.

Sam sank down by the bars, his fingers buried in his hair, and pulled until his scalp ached and stung. He stared at the floor, his eyes burning, his heart afire. Not long after, they heard Lance's screams echoing through the halls.


	5. Chapter 5

When they brought Lance back that day, he flinched from Zalyk for the first time. She had been reaching for his arm to help him up, just like the others, but she leaned back, a look of indescribable pain crossing her face. Lance realized immediately.

"Sorry! Sorry." It was a breathless gasp, his voice shaking almost as hard as his body. His drawstring pants were barely clinging to his hips, but at least it looked like they hadn't beaten him again. The wounds on his back weren't any worse than they had been before the guards dragged him away. No, today's torture had been...something different. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't s-see well, everything all too bright and, and w-weird, and you look...p-purple..." Shame in his voice, which wasn't fair, wasn't right. Lance couldn't help his instinctive reactions, and no could blame him, not even Zalyk, though she was unable to erase the pain from her expression.

"Lance." Sam was barely able to speak through the lump in his throat, which was now near permanent. He reached out and took the boy's face in his hands, then tilted his head up to look at him. Lance's eyes were unfocused, his head shivering in Sam's careful grip. He squinted, trying to make out Sam's face, but it was clear that he could not. "What did they do to you, sweetie? What did..."

"M-Magic?" Lance couldn't stop shaking. "Dunno, but...hurt. It hurt..."

He sounded deeply, horribly ashamed. Because he had screamed, and he hadn't wanted to. They had taken that away from him, too.

Sam held his face, stroked his thumbs over his cheekbones. Lance sighed and let his eyes flutter shut. He seemed more relaxed when he stopped trying to make sense of his warped and blurry vision.

"Was it like electricity? The magic?" Sam asked. With the way Lance's muscles were spasming, that seemed to make the most sense.

"Y-yeah. Kind of. But that wasn't the point, I don't think." Lance leaned his cheek more heavily into Sam's palm, his eyes still firmly shut. "I think the druid w-was… She said something about how Zarkon found the black lion, and I th-think it was like...she was trying to power up my bond with Blue. Make it work across greater distances, so I could call her. So she could come. And she also h-hurt me, so I would _want_ to call."

He opened his eyes and looked at Sam, and his pupils were almost focused again. "But I didn't." His voice was hard and steady. Despite the weakness in his body, the horrendous pain that was still roaring through him, his will was iron-clad. Even his body had stopped shivering for the moment. "I won't let them use me to trap my girl. The bond is closed on my end, I'm sure of it. All of the magical energy let me, like...reinforce it. Let me do what I wanted to do in the first place."

Sam's breath halted in his throat. First there was pride. Then, overwhelming terror. "Were...were you able to keep that a secret from the druid? Or could she tell what you were doing?"

"She knew." Lance closed his eyes again, letting himself go limp as his momentary strength bled away. "That was why she stopped and had them bring me back here."

Sam swallowed. His heart was jumping in his chest, threatening to choke him. "But that means...tomorrow…"

"Yeah. They'll try again. Something different. Something that will just hurt, to try to make me do what they want me to do. I won't, Sam. I won't do it."

Sam let go of his face and leaned back. He felt numb. No. No. He couldn't stand it.

Zalyk stayed back, but Lance let Braxia pick him up. No one even considering trying to get him to walk, not even Lance, for the first time. They crossed back to the corner again, plodding through the sorrowful crowd of fellow prisoners. It was as solemn and griefstricken as a funeral procession. When Sam realized that, he stumbled and almost fell to his knees.

No. Lance wasn't dead. He wasn't going to die. The Galra didn't even want him dead.

Lance's team would come. His lion would come. They had to. No other outcome was allowed.

Sam sat down in the corner, reclining against the wall, and reached his arms up for Lance. Braxia lowered the boy into his lap, and Sam curled around him, holding him as tight as he dared. Lance was still shaking, ceaselessly, but it seemed to come in waves. It was as if residual electricity was bleeding out of his muscles, sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly. Lance hid his face against Sam's neck and just lay there, panting.

"You're okay," Sam murmured, rocking him. He held Lance's head with one hand, fingertips scrubbing back and forth through his hair. "You're okay, you're okay, you're gonna be okay."

"Yeah." Lance shuddered and shook. Tears were leaking out of his eyes, but he didn't sob. It was purely a physical reaction to enormous pain. Emotionally, he was still holding on, if barely. "F-fine. I'm fine. It'll pass. It's...it's still not the worst, Sam. It's still not the worst."

Sam couldn't stop the high-pitched noise that whimpered from his lips. Yes, it could be worse than this. They could be mutilating Lance, opening more raw wounds, leaving him to fester and rot strapped to a rack or a table or a chair. They could be violating him in other ways, more intimate ways, ways that had the potential to ruin aspects of Lance's well-being for the rest of his life. Thankfully, the Galra had never shown any interest in those kinds of tortures, not that Sam could see. It could be worse, and yes, Sam fully understood Lance's need to convince himself that what was happening to him wasn't that bad. It was helping him get through this, helping him believe that he was _capable_ of getting through this.

But this was enough. Lance was still holding on, somehow, but Sam could not, not anymore. Sam was no longer capable of viewing their captors as sentient beings with hopes and feelings and lives outside this prison. All he saw when he looked at them was the looming, amorphous shapes of monsters, dread horrors, ugly and putrid and warped beyond redemption. He wanted them dead. Every last one of them. If he could call Lance's lion personally, he would ask her to blow them all away without the slightest shred of doubt or remorse.

Sam couldn't stand this, not for one moment longer.

But there was very little he could do about it. Sam held the limp child in his arms, rocked him, stroked his hair. Sang to him lullabies and old songs he dredged up from two decades of fatherhood, memories that had been almost buried and lost under the weight of his own imprisonment. Called him all the endearments he could think of, told him over and over how proud he was of him. When Lance seemed fully lucid and aware of himself, the shaking finally fading to a mere shiver over his shoulders that came with intervals of stillness, Sam asked him to surrender.

"You proved yourself, honey," he told him. "You held on as long as you could. You didn't cry. You didn't scream. You were so, so brave, and so, so strong. You are a hero beyond doubt, beyond question. I admire you more than I can possibly say, and I'm so glad that I got to meet you, that I get to be with you now. You held on as long as you could, dear, and you don't have to do it anymore."

Lance shifted against him, uncomfortable, but he lacked the strength to move. "Sam..." A pained whisper.

"No. Listen." Sam pressed Lance's head to his shoulder. Ducked his head to hide his face against his hair. Squeezed his eyes shut and whispered only for him. "You did all you could, sweetheart. I'm very, very proud of you. Your team will be too, as soon as they learn what you've done, how incredibly strong and brave and heroic you've been all this time. You did all you could, and no one can ask more of you. No one. But this is enough. It's enough, pumpkin. I don't want you to find out what the worst is. I don't want you to go back to that druid tomorrow. I don't want them to beat you again. I don't want you to have to be strong, not anymore.

"So undo it. Whatever you did to try to block your bond with Blue. Undo it. Call for her. Scream if you can. Get her here, no matter what it takes. It doesn't matter if this place is a trap, if this whole planet is nothing but weapons and enemies all waiting in ambush. Your lion and your team will tear through all of it to get to you. I have faith in them, and I know you do too. Stop trying to protect them, stop trying to protect me, stop trying to protect everyone around you, and please, please, please, sweet child, let yourself be protected instead."

"Sam." Lance's voice was high and thin with distress. It was closer to a wail than a word. He shook harder and curled up tighter into Sam's chest as if he was trying to hide there. "Don't...don't ask me that..."

"I'm sorry, son. I'm sorry, sunshine." Tears pushed at Sam's eyes, that awful, aching pressure like a headache that wouldn't go away. He had been sitting with his legs straight out from his body, Lance sitting in his lap with most of his weight on Sam's right thigh. Now, Sam got the soles of his feet against the floor and raised his knees, bending forward over Lance to fold his body around the boy in a flimsy little pocket of protection. It didn't work very well, with how lanky Lance was and how average Sam was, but he did his best. He wished the kid was smaller or he was larger, so he could cradle him better.

Sam caught his breath. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, sunshine, but I can't help it. I can't watch you being hurt like this anymore. We have to end it. Please. I'm begging you. Please."

"I can't!" Lance sobbed, now. For the first time. His back was bowed and trembling, and his battered hand, circled with weeping sores around his wrist, clenched in the fabric over Sam's stomach. "I can't, Sam, I can't... I can't be that. I can't be the reason..."

"What, Lance?" Sam asked in as soothing a voice as he could muster, sweeping his hand continually through Lance's hair. "You can't be the reason that what?"

"I can't be the...the r-reason...that someone else gets hurt, that any of my team...gets hurt..."

Ah, of course. Sam's heart felt like it was being squeezed in a giant fist. "I'm sorry," he said again. It was pushed out on a gasp. "It's selfish of me to ask this, sweetheart. Pure selfishness, because I can't stand to see you suffering like this anymore. But please...try to imagine it from their perspective."

Lance sniffled against his chest but lay still, listening.

Sam blinked, trying to gather his thoughts. Black spots winked in and out in his vision. He was having trouble breathing, but he had to get this out. "What if...what if it was someone else here? One of your teammates, here in this prison, in Berav'iv, while you were safe at the Castle of Lions?"

Lance made a pained noise and stiffened against him. Sam cooed sympathetically and petted his hair. "I know, honey, I know it's hard to think about. But please try. What if... What if it was Hunk? Your best friend? Or..." He could barely stand to contemplate this himself. He forced it out anyway. "What if it was Katie? Pidge?"

Lance's shaking hand pulled at the front of his shirt, hard. If he'd had any strength left, he might have torn the tough, prison-grade material. Sam huffed out a breath and kept caressing his head. "I know. I know, sunshine. It's horrible. But if you were safe, and your teammate was in prison, being tortured. If you knew it was a trap, and all of hell was waiting to devour you. When the signal came, would you still go?"

He already knew the answer. Lance did too. He made a high, unbelieving noise, both agonized at the scenario and indignant with Sam for talking him into this corner. Sam released a breathless chuckle, more in relief than humor, and held him a little tighter.

"I'm sorry, sunshine," he apologized again, because someone needed to apologize to this boy. Someone needed to apologize until they were blue in the face. "I'm sorry I made you think about that. But do you understand, now? Why I ask you to do this? Why your team would want you to?"

Lance breathed harshly for a few moments, in and out. Then he nodded into Sam's chest, still tense and upset, but acknowledging the truth. His voice was harsh, too. "Yes."

"Okay." Sam blew out a breath and pressed his palm against the side of his head. "Good."

"That was cruel." Lance's tears wet his neck, and Sam's heart stuttered in both agony and tenderness.

"I know," he whispered. "I know, sunshine. That was cruel of me. But I'm glad you understand."

Lance heaved another breath, then relaxed against him, giving in. "When they take me back to the druid, I'll call for Blue."

"And she'll come," Sam said. Confidence sparked in every cell in his body. Lance had convinced him of this over the weeks. He knew without question, without doubt, that Lance's people would come for him.

But the next day, they didn't take him back to the druid. They broke his legs.


	6. Chapter 6

"This is the worst, Sam!" Lance sobbed and sobbed, and Sam's heart was breaking. "This is the worst. This is the worst!"

They hadn't even dragged him away to some torture room to do this. When the guards came today, they tore Lance away from Sam's grip, as usual, then hustled him into one of the isolation cells off the main communal cell. They pushed Lance to the floor, kicked him, spat on him. Then they stomped on his legs and broke them. They had all heard the sharp cracking sounds, one after the other, all held their breath in horrified silence until Lance split the air with a high-pitched yowl of agony.

The guards laughed. They left him there, crumpled on the cold stone floor, writhing in pain. They locked the door and left him there.

Sam now lay on his stomach outside the isolation cell, head bent down to the floor, to the gap between the bottom of the solid door and the rocky ground. He was grateful, for once, that this was an old prison. The cell door was rusted and twisted on its hinges, and here at the bottom there was a gap. If the prison had been newer and more carefully built, there would be no gap. Turned out that there were advantages to being imprisoned in a medieval dungeon.

The gap was small. A couple of inches high at the most, smaller than that for most of its length. It was too tight to pass through anything of significance. Sam doubted they would even be able to feed a blanket through it, though he badly wanted to. A Galra would not be able to fit their hand in the gap. Zalyk proved that when she tried. Maybe that was why the guards hadn't bothered to rehang the door and fix the gap.

Human hands were smaller. Not by much, but enough. Sam tried to squeeze his hand through, couldn't quite get in, but he could tell it was close. Lance was more slender than Sam, even more so after the starvation, and he was able to slide his hand under the door.

It had taken him a while to get there, crawling military-style on his elbows over the floor, choking down his yelps and screams of pain as the movement jarred his broken legs. All Sam and the others could do was kneel by the door and talk to him through the walls, trying to encourage him as much as possible. It took a monumental effort of will to ignore Lance's broken sobbing and tell him to just keep moving, keep hurting himself as he crept across the cell at a snail's pace. Finally, finally Lance reached the door and got his hand through the gap, and now Sam was holding it.

Lance's knuckles were pale with the force of his effort, but his grip didn't hurt. It didn't hurt at all. The boy had no strength, almost nothing left in him. Sam squeezed back as tight as he dared. Lance's fingers were shaking against his, and the sight of the scrapes and welts around his wrist made Sam want to cry. But at least he could hold his hand.

Sam wrapped both of his hands around Lance's, shielding his fingers from the cold floor. On the other side of the door, Lance was still naked from the waist up, unable to lift himself off the rocky surface. This was all Sam could do for him, so he was going to do it.

It was all Lance could say for minutes on end. "This is the worst. This is the worst."

Sam wanted to destroy something. "I know, sunshine," he soothed, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. "I know it hurts. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could help."

Lance didn't seem to hear him, whether because the door was too thick or the pain was too loud. "Make it stop, Sam! Please, please make it stop!"

He sounded young. Terribly young. Unforgivably young.

Sam had never wanted anything more. He pressed Lance's hand between his and blinked away the tears. "I can't, honey. I'm so sorry. Please hold on. Please hold on just a little while longer."

They didn't want to kill him, Sam had to remind himself. The Galra didn't want Lance dead. They wanted him in agony, maybe in mortal peril, since that seemed to be a trigger for the lions to come after their paladins. If they killed Lance, it would defeat all of their plans. They wanted him hurting and desperate.

They had it.

Lance broke down completely, able only to sob and mutter fractured phrases in Spanish. Sam wasn't fluent, but he understood enough. "Por favor" was in there a lot. "Ayudame," too. _Please. Please help me._ All he could do was hold Lance's hand and cry with him.

Eventually, Lance cried himself out. His hand was slack in Sam's, but Sam could tell by the way he was still sniffling and panting that he hadn't passed out. It might have been kinder if he had.

At some point Sam had curled up in a ball as close to the door as he could get, forehead and knees both pressed against the cold metal. He was hiding Lance's hand in the curve of his body as if he could shelter him, as if he could offer even a modicum of warmth and comfort. "Lance? Can you hear me, sweetheart?"

"Yeah." His voice was soft and slurred and ragged. Worn paper-thin.

"Is it better? Did the pain get better?"

"Kind of. I'm...numb..."

Sam pulled in a shaky breath. It was probably a good thing. Don't think about shock, dropping blood pressure, the possibility of broken blood vessels in Lance's legs slowly draining out and killing him. The Galra didn't want him dead. They just wanted him in pain.

"Okay," Sam said gently. "Okay. That's good. I'm glad you're feeling better. Good job, Lance. Good job holding on."

Lance made a noise of pure misery. "No."

Sam went still. "What do you mean, honey?"

"No. Not a good job. I can't hold on. I can't do this anymore, Sam."

Sam had thought he was drained of tears. He was not. He caressed the back of Lance's hand with his thumb and wished that he could do much, much more. "That's okay, sunshine. It's okay."

"I want this to stop. I wish they would just kill me."

Sam almost choked on the lump in his throat. He had to lay still for a while, swallowing and swallowing, before he could speak. "That's okay, Lance. No one can blame you for feeling that way. But I'm going to be selfish again and ask you to hold on for a little while longer. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

"I'm not a hero, Sam. I'm just a boy from Cuba. I don't know why Blue chose me. I think she had some wires crossed in her metal brain after ten thousand years alone. I did my best to fake it, I tried so, so hard, and I think I kind of succeeded for a while. But I'm really tired, and I really hurt, and I want this to stop." He didn't even sound ashamed. Just exhausted. "I want to die."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. And yet, he wasn't surprised. How often had he thought about death here, himself? And they hadn't even tortured him. Trapped in despair like this, down here in the dark, death seemed like an escape. A relief. Nothing to fear.

He pressed Lance's hand between his palms and wished with all his heart that he could hold him in his arms. But for now, all he had was words. "I'm sorry you feel that way, sunshine. I don't blame you. I understand. But I wish you weren't hurting like this. You don't deserve it, and it isn't fair. I know you can't believe it right now, but you absolutely are a hero, no matter how you look to yourself. There's nothing wrong with you for feeling this way, and it doesn't stop you from being a hero. I think every hero has moments when they don't feel like they're a hero, when they feel like they can't do it and they want to give up.

"But I'll tell you again, I'll tell you over and over, that you are a dear, sweet, brave boy, the best hero anyone could ask for. Did you know that I wanted to give up, too? Before you came here, I had stopped caring about pretty much anything. It was just...too hard. I was tired, and afraid, and I wasn't doing anyone any good, not even myself. More than once I thought about fighting the guards, provoking them to hurt me. Hopefully to kill me. At least then I wouldn't be here any longer.

"But I held on, and I'm glad I did. You know why? Because I got to meet you. If I had given up, I wouldn't have been here when the Galra brought you to this horrible place. I never would have gotten to see your smile and listen to your voice. I never would have gotten to listen to your stories and see how much you make things brighter for everyone around you. That was worth...a lot. More than I can say.

"I would miss you if you weren't here, sunshine. So, so much. That's how I know that all of your friends are missing you, too. If they were here, I know they would be selfish, just like me. They would ask you to hang on, even though it hurts. They would beg you to be patient for just a little while longer. They're on the way. They'll be here for you soon.

"So I want you to hold on, Lance. Please. I'll do everything I can to help you, and I wish I could do so, so much more. But no matter how hard it gets, no matter how much you want it all to stop, I'm begging you to hold on. Can you do that for me, sweetie? Please?"

Silence. Sam pressed his ear to the door and thought he heard Lance's shuddering breath. He hoped the boy hadn't passed out partway through that speech.

Then Lance's fingers flexed in Sam's, the merest franction of a movement, and Sam's breath punched out of his lungs in explosive relief. He was still here. Still listening.

"Okay." Lance's voice was almost inaudible, broken and soft and weary beyond the telling. But Sam heard him. "I'll hold on."

Sam closed his eyes and squeezed his hand. "Thank you, darling. I really, really appreciate it. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Lance was quiet for a moment, breathing. Then, "Could you sing for me? That song from yesterday?"

Sam smiled, though his heart breaking. "Of course, baby. Which one?"

"The one about...sunshine...when it's cloudy..."

Sam cast his mind back and found it right away. "Ah. I know the one."

He pressed his forehead to the metal door again and sang into the gap, just for Lance. _"I've got sunshine on a cloudy day. When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May..."_

Sam's voice was broken and halting and far from beautiful. He wished he could sing better, wished he had something else to offer. But after a few bars, Lance started humming along, shaky but sweet. Sam didn't stop, not for hours. It was the least he could do.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a long night. They tried to pass a blanket to Lance through the gap, but anything of any size or thickness got caught between the metal and rock, and Lance was too weak to pull it through. They were only able to give him a handful of thin cloth scraps, and he said they helped, at least he could shield his skin from the floor. He might have been telling the truth, or he might have been lying to make them feel better; even Sam couldn't tell. Eventually Lance told them to stop trying, stop looking for anything else they could give him. He was worn out from the effort, and he just wanted to hold Sam's hand.

Sam could tell by Lance's labored breathing and by the way his hand felt too cool and stiff that he had a fever now. Sam and the others couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't give him any water, couldn't wipe his brow, couldn't even make a comfortable place for him to lie down. The two of them fell asleep, eventually, holding hands through that tiny gap at the bottom of the cell door, but Sam's sleep was troubled and patchy, and he knew Lance's was, too.

Before dawn the next morning, or at least before the guards turned the lights on, something shook the mountain.

Sam startled awake, his hand reflexively tightening around Lance's, and stared wide-eyed into the dark. Around him, the other prisoners stirred and muttered. Braxia, curled up against Sam's back, sat up slowly, and Sam felt him shifting as if he was looking around. Could Braxia see in the pitch dark? Some kind of sonar, perhaps? Sam had never asked. Lance probably had.

The room shook again, and Sam heard a dull, muffled thump that sounded far, far away. Lance let out a pained gasp as he jerked awake, his fingers flexing against Sam's. Dust and small rocks sifted down from the ceiling.

"Sam?" Lance's voice was cracked and rough, not yet fearful as he was still half-mired in sleep. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, sweetheart." Sam squeezed his hand and looked up at the ceiling. "Something might be happening, but I don't know what."

Another thump. This time Sam could swear it sounded like an explosion. Some kind of blast had struck the outside of the mountain, not close enough to reach them, but the sound still traveled through all the miles and miles of rock and dirt and twisting passageways. Closer, he heard voices yelling. Galra soldiers and guards. The voices sounded excited more than surprised, as if they had been preparing for this.

Lance let out a breath. "Oh."

Sam leaned closer to the door. The room shook again. "What is it, sunshine?"

"I dreamed... I had a weird dream. I was hurting, even in my dream. Everything was dark and hazy, and I couldn't move, like I was trapped in something sticky. Like a swamp, thick and hot and dragging me down, stinging everywhere it touched me. And then there was this wave. This wave of blue. It washed over the swamp, and it touched me, and everywhere it touched felt so cool and nice, like it was washing away the pain. And I felt... I heard... No, neither of those words are right. But I knew. It was my lion. It was Blue. She was looking for me, and she found me, and she's coming."

Sam's breath shuddered. He would have expected Lance to sound excited and happy with this news. Somehow, while he was sleeping, the block he had tried to put on his bond with his lion must have come undone. That, or she finally got close enough to hear him or something, Sam wasn't sure exactly how it worked, and at this moment he didn't care. What mattered was that Blue was coming. Voltron was coming. They were coming to get Lance and take him home, and all of this would be over soon.

Lance didn't sound happy, though. His voice was plain and factual, simply describing what had happened. Sam didn't know if he was too sick and pained to understand, or too mentally depressed and overwhelmed to see it as a good thing. Either way, it was more evidence that Blue needed to get here and rescue him. Now.

Sam pressed Lance's hand between his and rested his forehead against the cold door. "That's good, isn't it? Aren't you looking forward to seeing her?"

"Yes..." But Lance's voice was uncertain. "I just...I can't help feeling like I did something wrong..."

Sam shook his head vehemently in the dark. "No. No. Not at all. You didn't do anything wrong, honey. You did everything right. Don't worry about that."

"Okay." Lance's hand relaxed in his. "If you say so."

Still that trust, despite everything. Sam smiled, though he felt the tears rising in his eyes. He was glad Lance still believed him, even though Sam wasn't sure he deserved it.

Then the lights came on, so bright it was as if someone had hit a floodlight. The sudden, blinding impact felt like a bomb. Sam squinted and let go of Lance with one hand so he could shade his eyes and look toward the cell door. It was creaking and clanking, slamming open, and someone was coming. A lot of someones. A group of guards, more than Sam had ever seen at one time, and there with them in the middle...

Sam had never seen a creature who looked like that before. The person was tall, but shorter than the Galra surrounding them, with long flowing robes, smooth skin, and markings under their eyes. Or her? Sam was pretty sure it was female, whoever, whatever this was.

The prisoners around him shivered and shrank. "A druid," someone murmured, pure dread in their voice. Then someone else spoke, one of the more knowledgable planetary rulers who had once upon a time been involved in universal politics.

"Haggar."

Even Sam knew that name. For a moment, his mind lit up with white-hot terror, and all he could think that she was going to catch him holding hands with Lance and punish them for it. Move Lance to a different cell with no gap under the door, maybe. Or just break his hand.

It almost killed him to do it, but he let go of Lance's hand, setting it gently on the rocky floor. "Lance," he hissed into the gap. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but you gotta pull your hand back under the door, okay?"

Lance did not question this, just pulled his hand back. Sam winced when his swollen wrist scraped against the bottom of the door. Then Haggar and her escort were upon them, and Sam drew himself to his feet to face her.

Suddenly, he was not afraid. Not at all. The blue lion was still shaking the mountain with her continued attacks, and all Sam felt was anger. How dare they do this to a kid, a brave young man who only wanted to help, only wanted to make others feel better? How dare they beat him, isolate him, torture him, starve him, break his legs? It was incomprehensible, inexcusable, and it filled Sam with overwhelming rage.

Sam stood with his back to the door and pressed his palm against the metal surface as if he could somehow stop the Galra from getting through to Lance. He stared straight into Haggar's face, his teeth clenched and mind seething. "What do you want?" he barked. "Haven't you done enough to this poor boy?"

Haggar drew up short and narrowed her eyes at him. It wasn't even surprise in her expression, just contempt. As if he was an insect that had dared to rise up in her path and she had to step on it to get what she wanted. "You're the other human," she said, her voice grating. "We have a use for you as well."

She looked at the guards on either side of her. "Take him as well as the blue paladin. We'll use them both."

"What for?" Sam demanded, refusing to be ignored. "You wanted the blue paladin in agony, calling out for help. You have it. What else could you possibly take from him, or from me?"

Haggar bared her teeth at him. "You know nothing. Close your mouth before I see fit to close it for you. Permanently."

She lifted one hand, almost lazily, and the guards advanced on Sam and the cell door. The other prisoners had wisely gotten out of the way long ago, but Sam still stood there. He shifted himself to stand more squarely in front of Lance's cell, grimacing in hatred. "No, I won't let you, I won't..."

He barely got in one punch, ineffectual as it was, before a guard struck him upside the head with a thick baton. Sam's knees bent, and he lost control of his body for a second. When it passed, he was being held restrained between two Galra. He lifted his head to see two more guards dragging Lance by the arms out of the now-open cell. Lance was crying and whimpering as the movement jarred his legs.

Sam fought against the hands on him, unthinking in fury. "No, stop it, stop it! Stop hurting him, stop it, you've done enough!"

Haggar, standing nearer to him than the cell, growled in exasperation and reached for Sam. Her hand was sparking with something that Sam could only characterize as dark electricity, snapping and arcing between her fingers. "I told you to be silent, worm."

She touched his head with the black energy, and everything lit on fire. Sam screamed. He understood, instantly and with terrifying thoroughness, exactly why Lance had not been able to keep from crying out when the druid tortured him this way. Had it been Haggar, or another of her kind? The pain built quickly, overwhelming his body, his mind, everything. His senses shorted out, overloaded by the stimulation. Then everything went dark.

When he came to, he was no longer underground. It had been months since Sam had been anywhere but that prison, and for a moment all he could think about was the wind on his skin, the sunlight pressing against his eyes. Such simple sensations, so desperately missed. He was dangling from something, his arms held above his head and pulling painfully at his arm sockets. Everything ached and buzzed with the remnants of that dark electricity, and Sam gulped down a moan before it could escape his lips. Where was Lance?

Somewhere to his left, he heard the boy whimper. He heard other things, too, a massive, high-pitched buzz and crash and rumble like continuous electricity, shouts and yells, the sounds of enormous ships passing overhead. Haggar's voice somewhere ahead, roaring in triumphant laughter.

Sam lifted his head and forced his eyes open, breathing heavily through his mouth to try to regulate the pain. He was being held between a pair of Galra, each holding one of his wrists stretched high above his head. He tried to get his feet under himself and couldn't manage it, could barely get his toes down on the surface below to stabilize himself. The guard on his right tightened his grip on Sam's wrist and hauled him up higher, making him dance on his tiptoes. "Stop it..." Sam groaned, still not completely aware of his surroundings.

Lance yelped, and Sam's eyes flew open, his head whipping over to find him. Lance was being held the same way he was, dangling by the wrists in the grip of two Galra gaurds. His broken legs trailed to the ground, bending in nauseating ways whenever his body shifted. His head was slumping down on his chest, and his eyes were closed, his entire body heaving for breath.

"Lance!" Sam yelled, desperate for some sign of life from the boy. He looked awful, still bloody and striped from the physical beatings, pale and gaunt from starvation and imprisonment below the ground. He had looked bad enough in the dim light of the cell below, but in full daylight, he looked much worse. He barely looked alive. "Lance, please! Say something!"

Lance didn't answer.

Haggar cackled, and Sam looked forward, his heart in his throat. They were standing outside the entrance to the mountain on a large tract of cleared, paved terrain, a landing tarmac for Galra ships. Haggar stood about twenty feet in front of where Sam and Lance were held, her arms uplifted and robes whipping in a stronger breeze than the one Sam felt, himself. Magical energy was building around her, twisting around her body and upraised arms.

And there above her, where her arms were pointing and her energy was feeding... Sam raised his head to take it in, squinting against the sunlight. An enormous blue robot lion was suspended in the air, trapped in an unbelievably gigantic lattice of electricity like an animal caught in a hunter's net. Or a fly in a web. Two skyscraper-sized pylons bracketed the web of energy, stabilizing the trap created by Haggar's magic. As Sam watched, the lion shuddered and shook, trying to break free, but was unable to move. Eventually she went limp and dangled in the air, much like her young pilot on the tarmac below.

Even so, for a moment Sam's attention was riveted to her, fascinated by the incredible size and complexity of her, this combination weapon and spacecraft from a bygone age. He remembered all of Lance's stories and descriptions, the mingled awe and fondness and longing in his voice whenever he spoke of his lion, his "Blue." Here she was, now, at last, and Sam understood why Lance had missed her so much. She was beautiful and amazing. And there were four more like her?

Something massive passed overhead, a shadow the size of a blimp but as fast as a jet flashing over him. The roar of it popped in Sam's ears and shook both the air and the ground beneath him. The guards holding him tightened their grip and spread their stance to compensate. He followed the shadow with his eyes and saw... A black lion. Like the blue one, clearly made along the same design, but much larger, bulkier and more powerful.

Behind it came a green lion, then a red, then a yellow. All three were enormous, breathtaking. Sam stared without blinking, his mouth open. He was so numb with awe and amazement that he couldn't even feel his bruises, the stretch of his arms, the ache in his head and body from being struck with Haggar's magic. He looked over at Lance, hoping to see him perk up at the arrival of his people, his team, but Lance's head was still down. He seemed unaware of anything that was going on around him.

"Lance," Sam tried to call, but his breath caught, and he could barely hear himself over all the roaring and crackling and the sounds of the ships. "Lance!" he tried again, this time with all the power he could muster. "They're here! Everyone is here for you! Look up and see!"

Lance heaved for breath, and his hands spasmed helplessly against the hold on his wrists. His head rolled on his chest, eyelids fluttering, and he forced his eyes open and began to raise his head, groaning with effort. He looked at Sam, though he barely seemed able to make him out, and Sam nodded, then tipped his head toward the sky.

Lance squinted and tried to look up. Two great _thuds_ shook the world, and Sam's attention snapped forward again. The black lion had landed not far from Haggar, and next to it, the green one. The red and yellow lions circled overhead, picking off small Galra fighters that flew into the area.

The green and black lions lowered their heads and opened their mouths, and two figures ran down the ramps onto the tarmac in front of Haggar. The black pilot was carrying a laser gun that took both hands to lift, and the green one had some kind of weapon lit and glowing in hand. Sam knew who they were from Lance's stories, but he still couldn't quite believe it, not until they got close enough for him to see their faces through their helmets. Shiro. Katie.

The two pilots pulled up short, carefully out of Haggar's reach, and faced her with weapons at the ready. She cackled, hands still uplifted as she fed magic energy above her head into the trap that held the blue lion. "So you've come at last," she gloated. "I knew you would."

Shiro faced her head on, mouth grim and eyes hard, but Katie looked behind Haggar to the hostages. She saw Lance first and went pale and gasping, though she didn't speak. Then her eyes swept to the other side. "Dad!" A strangled scream. They hadn't known he was here.

Sam tried to smile, even as tears filled his eyes. "I'm okay!" he yelled as loud as he could. The guard on his right rewarded him with a punch to the kidney, making him gasp and double over, dangling painfully from the Galra's grip. But he straightened, still smiling, and called again. "I'm proud of you, Katie!" If they killed him now, he wanted her to know.

The guard punched him again. Lance really was rubbing off on him, it seemed. Sam just couldn't keep his mouth shut, not to save his life.

Shiro's voice rang out, clear and strong. "Let them go. Let Lance and Commander Holt go."

Haggar laughed, shrill and grating. "You dare to speak so to me, Champion? Are you so witless that you don't understand your position here? I've captured the blue lion! It is mine, and none can take it from my hand! You fell into the trap I set for you without hesitation, just as I knew you would. You _paladins."_ She spat the word like a curse. "You've never understood the true meaning of power and control. You had Voltron in your hands, and to keep it all you had to do was ignore the pain of one worthless child. Instead, the very moment you knew where he was, you couldn't keep yourselves from blundering in after him. You don't _deserve_ to wield the lions. You don't know how to use them!"

Shiro's lip curled, and his finger flexed against the trigger of his gun, though it was pointed safely at the ground. Sam could tell by the twitch of his muscles, though, that he could bring up the muzzle and shoot straight into Haggar's face in a fraction of a second. He was itching to do it. "Your words mean nothing to me, Haggar. We've come to retrieve our people. Let them go."

Haggar's voice rose in incredulous rage. "You _still_ don't understand? You are not here to bargain, Champion! I have every advantage, and you have nothing! You will give me what I want, or you will suffer. That is the only deal to be made here."

"What do you want, then?" Shiro asked, strong and steady, as if he knew exactly what Haggar was going to do and he already had his response set.

Haggar looked back at the guards. Sam choked as the cold, hard muzzle of a gun was pressed under his chin, forcing his head up and back so he was looking at blank sky. A glance to the side revealed that Lance was getting the same treatment. Lance's eyes were closed, and he was limp and unresponsive. Sam couldn't tell whether he was even conscious at the moment.

Haggar's voice rang out. "I already have the blue lion. You cannot form Voltron, and you never will be able to do so again. If you surrender the other lions to me, I will refrain from killing these two pathetic examples of your species. Surrender the lions, and I'll allow all of you to retreat to that stinking castle I can see landing in the distance and give you time to retreat into the void. The Empire will not follow you. You will be allowed to live out your miserable lives in peace. Refuse this generous offer, and I will kill you all, starting with the two behind me."

Silence. Sam couldn't see Shiro's face with his head pushed back like this, so he had no idea what was going through his mind. He heard the wind, the roar of the lions passing overhead. Lance moaned.

"No."

Sam twisted his head to look at him, the gun digging into the flesh under his chin. Lance's voice was almost too soft to hear. His eyes fluttered, then opened, staring upward. His chest heaved for breath.

"No!" Everyone could hear him this time. Lance pulled futilely at the hands holding him, though if he managed to get free he would only drop to the ground. "Shiro, no, don't do it!"

"Hold on, Lance," Shiro called, steady and strong. "Everything's going to be okay."

He sounded sure. He must have a plan.

"No, no." Lance was weeping now, struggling with all the strength he had. Sam's heart was pounding, and he felt like he was going to be sick. "Don't! Don't do this!"

Shiro spoke to Haggar, his voice steely. "You have your bargain, witch. The lions for their freedom. Double-cross us, and I'll shoot you in the face."

Haggar cackled, triumphant, gleeful. "As if you could hit me, Champion of nothing."

Another signal, and the gun dropped away from Sam's head. He faced forward, blinking against the tears. Lance groaned, and his head fell down on his chest again, as he lacked the strength to hold it up. The red and yellow lions made one more pass overhead, then landed beside the black and green with twin thuds that shook the mountains. The ramps lowered, and two young men came out. The red pilot Sam vaguely recognized as a student he'd seen hanging around Shiro back at the Garrison, but the yellow one he didn't know at all, except from Lance's stories. Keith and Hunk. Their faces were grim, their weapons ready in their hands. They moved up to stand with Katie and Shiro, one force arrayed against the enemy.

"Hand over Lance and Commander Holt first," Shiro said. "Then you can take the lions."

"Acceptable," Haggar said. "We have you surrounded. If you try anything, you will die."

The guards holding Sam began to move forward. He moved his feet, but could barely touch the ground. He clenched his teeth to keep from crying out at the pain in his shoulders and arms. Beside him, Lance sounded like he was choking, he was fighting so hard to keep from screaming. The guards dragged them both to the tarmac between Haggar and the paladins.

The hands around Sam's wrists let go, and he fell to his hands and knees with a short, cut-off cry. Lance crumpled to the ground with a whine, and Sam immediately started crawling to him, his vision blurred and clouded, breath rasping in his throat. He felt hands on his shoulders, nervously clutching, heard Katie's voice breathless in his ear. He wanted to hold her so, so badly, but he was focused on Lance where he lay in a bloody, quivering mess, trying to curl up on himself in an attempt to mitigate the pain.

Shiro and Hunk were already trying to lift their teammate, Keith off to the side alternating between watching them anxiously and glaring at Haggar. Sam reached Lance's side and reached out for him, shakily grabbing at Shiro and Hunk's hands. "No," he forced out, "no, don't, just, let me, let me..."

They seemed to understand what he wanted. Their grip on Lance shifted, lifting him partway as Sam carefully slid himself underneath the boy to take his weight, to protect him from the rough pavement. Lance still choked and whimpered, but in moments he was resting in Sam's lap, curled up against his torso, his legs stretched out to the side at horrific angles. Sam wrapped his arms around him, bent down and buried his face in his hair, and closed his eyes. Lance's body was too warm, his face hot where it pressed into Sam's chest. He was fevered and sick and in so, so much pain, and Sam was aware of almost nothing else.

"It's okay, sunshine," he murmured. "It's okay, it's okay. Everything's going to be okay." Hunk's hands folded around Sam's shoulders, holding him steady as he shook.

"No." Lance wept, delirious, fingers clutching like hooks in Sam's shirt. "Blue, no, no, don't take her away from me..."

"It's okay, Lance." Shiro's hand moved over his head, gently brushing back his dirty, tangled hair. "Everything's going to be okay."

"You let them take the lions," Lance sobbed. He somehow curled even tighter into Sam, flinching away from Shiro's touch as if it burned. Shiro winced and drew back, and Sam tried to give him a steadying look. Lance didn't know what he was saying or doing right now. "You let them take Blue."

All those weeks underground, Lance had kept his faith in his team. He had shared it with Sam, with the other prisoners, with anyone who would listen. He had been so bright and joyful and confident that everyone had slowly, slowly grown to believe him, even Sam, who had thought he might never be able to believe in something good again. Now, at the end, Lance had lost that light inside him, and he had nothing left but grief and pain.

That was okay. Sam would believe for him. He would carry the torch Lance had given him until Lance was strong enough to take it back.

So he held him tighter, pressed him closer, and whispered yet more fervently into his ear. "It's okay, Lance. It's okay, sunshine. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

"Lance, Lance." Katie's voice, close to weeping. She was crouched beside them, reaching out, trying to find a place to touch Lance that wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't press on a wound. It was impossible. She stopped trying and just jammed herself into Sam's lap at Lance's back, wrapping her arms around him as far as they would go with no regard for the blood and bruises and tears. Sam moved his arm to wrap around her and pulled her in tight, their three heads pressed close together.

"Lance," Katie murmured, close to Lance's ear. "Lance, buddy. Mi hermano. I know you're hurting, I know you're sick, but listen. Listen to Blue. Can you hear her voice? Can you hear her talking to you? I know she's talking to you, because Green is talking to me. Does Blue sound scared? Does she sound like she's grieving, sad about losing you? No, Blue isn't scared. Green isn't scared. Don't be sad, Lance. Everything's okay. I promise, I promise. No one is losing anyone. The lions aren't going away. Everything's going to be fine. We didn't come here without a plan."

Sam opened his eyes and looked up just enough to see the lions in front of them. Green and Black and Red and Yellow all had their shields raised even as Galra swarmed around them, setting up transports to take them away. The gigantic magical trap above their heads crackled like a thunderstorm, and Sam raised his head and watched Blue's motionless form. There was a sense of anticipation, of waiting. All of the paladins were crowded around him and Lance now, crouching on the ground and watching the lions warily. They were waiting, too, though for what, Sam did not know.

He bent his head back to his daughter's and breathed shakily against the side of her helmet. "Katie," he murmured. "What's the plan?"

She smiled, grim and satisfied. "It's a very simple plan. We all agreed to it. Just two words."

Lance was motionless in their arms, barely breathing. Sam felt dizzy. "What two words?"

Katie's smile broadened, vicious as a shark. "Lion smash."

Sam blinked. He tipped his head back up to the sky to look at Blue. Below, Haggar had moved to stand directly below the bulk of the lion, hands still raised, pouring ensnaring energy. She was weaving ever tighter around the lion, perhaps in preparation of turning off the pylons and lowering Blue to the ground, still trapped. A pulse of dark electricity surged from her hands as she laughed to herself, and Blue's body shivered against the bonds. Lance moaned into Sam's chest as if he could feel his lion's pain.

Something cracked. Something snapped. Shiro stood up suddenly, tension in every line of his body, his gun lowered at side. "Haggar!" he bellowed.

She turned to look at him, face twisted in contempt for his audacity to speak to her.

"I told you that you could take the lions!" Shiro yelled. "But I never said the lions agreed to it!"

A burst of light went off above their heads, far brighter and more blinding than the sudden morning activation in the underground prison. Sam's eyes squeezed shut on instinct, head pounding with the shock and sudden pressure. When he opened his eyes, Blue was still suspended between the pylons, but something had changed. Her limbs were splayed, her head and tail lifted. She looked like a cat in the middle of a leap. She was surrounded by a shell of bright blue energy, sharp and crackling, cutting through the dark electricity as if it was nothing. Disrupted, the trap's energy retreated to the pylons and wrapped around them in a chaotic, sparking mess of electricity, like ball lightning with nowhere to go.

Haggar stumbled back, her hands falling as her magic faltered. "No... No!" She spun toward Shiro again, face twisted in hatred. "What is this? What have you done?"

"We knew this was a trap," Shiro said grimly. "We've known all along. We only waited this long to come because we had to prepare a defensive mechanism for Blue. We knew you would try to capture her. And we knew she would want to break free."

Sam could almost swear he saw Blue nod. Then her shield deactivated, and she dropped from the sky. Right on top of Haggar.

Chaos. Shouting. Screams. The thud of massive feet over the land, the footsteps of titans as they crushed and tore and destroyed. The other lions had deactivated their barriers as well and turned on the Galra who dared to try to trap them. They were merciless, overpowering. They did not bother with their weapons, which would have put their pilots in danger, too. They simply stomped and smashed, snapped their jaws, whipped their tails. The enemies fled in terror only to be cut off at every turn. The lions smashed.

They did not discriminate. Everything disappeared under their feet, ground into powder and dust. Everything except for the paladins and Sam, still clutching each other in a small huddle in the middle of the tarmac. Nothing touched them, not even the slightest particle of debris. It was supremely surreal to sit there, surrounded by disaster and destruction, a cataclysm of monstrous proportions, and to remain completely unaffected by it. The most Sam felt was a breeze ruffling his hair when one of the lions rushed by too near.

It was over in moments. The lions smashed. And nothing remained.

Lance was limp in Sam's arms, completely worn out, gasping for air. Sam clutched him close, feeling almost as bewildered and exhausted as the boy. A castle was descending and people were running toward them, some pulling stretchers. The Galra lay in pieces and bloody smears all around. Sam found himself staring at something he barely saw, his vision blurring in and out.

It was Haggar's robe, empty on the ground where Blue had first descended. Sam could not comprehend it. What did it mean?

It was all too much. His vision went dark, and he felt himself slumping over Lance, caught and held by many hands as he went down. And he still believed what he'd been telling the boy, despite it all.

Everything was going to be okay.


	8. Chapter 8

Sam dreamed of home, a backyard barbecue soaked in sunlight. Colleen sat nearby in a patio chair, talking about politics with a neighbor, her voice rising and falling in lighthearted passion. His children played with the dog in the grass. Sam himself manned the grill, providing sustenance for his family and friends. Lance was there at a picnic table surrounded by his teammates, his skin a healthy, beautiful brown, no longer scored with bruises and cuts, his expression free and clear of clouds. He laughed at some joke Hunk had made, then caught Sam's eye over the grill and smiled at him, too, soft and happy and young and bright.

Sam woke with tears on his face. He heard a hiss of released air, felt a passing sensation of cold. He stumbled forward into the arms of his children. He fell to his knees, couldn't take it in. Katie sobbed into his shoulder, muttering "Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad" in a fervent chant. He buried his hand in her hair, then looked to his right, blinking as he failed to comprehend what he was seeing.

"Matt?" His voice came out rough, raspy. "Is it really you?"

Matt nodded, his face screwed up as he tried to speak and could not. More tears slid down Sam's face, and he wrapped his arm around him and crushed him to his shoulder. Both of them. Both of them here, and safe. Were they safe? Was Sam safe, too? Was any of this real?

They were both changed, his daughter and his son. Katie was older, harder, a look in her eyes that spoke of a warrior and not a child. Matt was scarred, the softness in his face long worn away. His hair was longer, hers was shorter. Sam could feel the definition of their muscles under their backs, in the way they clutched him. But they were still his. They were still his children, no matter what else changed.

"What..." Sam gasped, but couldn't complete the thought. "What..."

"Matt was liberated by a group of rebels," Katie choked out. "We found him by accident, looking for allies... They're the ones who told us about Berav'iv. They knew it was a trap, told us not to go. We went anyway, of course. But we had to be ready. I'm sorry it took so long."

Sam shook his head and held her tighter. "No, no, don't be sorry. I'm just glad you came. If it had taken any longer..." He shuddered. He wasn't at all sure that Lance would have been able to hold on for even one more day.

Lance. Sam jolted, his throat tightening up, and tried to lean back. "Where... Lance is... Where?"

They understood. Katie slid under his shoulder to support him, and Matt pressed against his side. They raised him to his feet and turned him so he could see Lance, trapped in a translucent pod. He still looked terrible, too gaunt, too marked, but his face was serene in slumber. Sam gasped, not sure he believed it.

Katie's arm squeezed around his waist. "He's getting better, Dad, I promise. I know he still looks bad, but it's better than it was. He needs a while longer, Coran says, but when he's healed, we'll all be here to catch him, I swear."

Sam nodded, still a little jerky and confused with reaction. He reached out, his feet moving, and his children guided him closer so he could place his hand on the pod over Lance's face. Sam smiled, yet more tears spilling over and down. "He's such a good boy," he murmured. "He tried so hard, and he gave so much. And they made him hurt so, so badly. I can't..." He drew in a shuddering breath, then looked to Katie. "I'm proud of you, more than I can say." To Matt. "And of you. I...I'm so happy to see you. Thank you for rescuing me."

They hugged him tight, for as long as he wanted. Eventually they led him out of the room, saying that he needed to clean up and change, then eat and meet the others. Only Katie and Matt had been present for his release from the pod so as not to overwhelm him. But they wanted to show Sam the ship, everything they'd been doing and learning and creating, the relationships they'd been building. Sam wanted to see it all, too.

Before they passed out of the room, he looked back at the pod and the sleeping boy and offered one last smile. "I'll see you soon, Lance," he murmured, and he hoped it was true.

The halls were broad, beautiful, and brightly lit. The contrast was so great from the places where Sam had been held for more than a year that he felt somewhat exposed and vulnerable. He found himself sticking close to Matt's side, while Katie clung to his waist. Matt led him to a bedroom that reminded Sam of a military barracks. It was plainly lived in, and a freshly made cot had been set against the wall opposite the bed alcove.

Matt gave him a sheepish smile. "We thought you wouldn't mind rooming with me for a while, just till you get your feet under you. Plus the ship is kinda full right now, at least the normally inhabited parts."

Sam blinked. "The...the other prisoners?" Matt nodded. Zalyk, Kiran, Braxia. Everyone else. They had all been rescued.

Lance would be so pleased. He would be sad, though, that he hadn't been there to help his friends acclimate to their new quarters.

Matt showed him a bathroom connected to the room, a change of clothes laid out for him. "We'll wait in the bedroom for you," he said, and Sam appreciated it more deeply than he could say. Somehow, Katie and Matt both knew without being told that he needed his privacy, but he didn't truly want to be alone.

Cleaning and bathing himself in privacy was a privilege, one that Sam would never again take for granted. Matt had also provided a razor and shaving cream, or at least items that looked close enough for government work. Sam took his time shaving, revealing the face underneath the mess. When he finished, he stared in the mirror for a while, growing accustomed to himself again. He was thinner and frailer than he had once been, and gray had almost completely taken over his head. He looked like an old man. Felt like one, too.

Shiro was different, too, when Sam finally saw him in the dining hall. He was broader and more muscular than Sam remembered, even out of that full-body armor he'd been wearing on the mountain. The white streak in his hair and the scar across his face had aged him at least a decade, not to mention all the responsibilities that piled on his shoulders. In between mourning for the lost innocence of his children, Sam had time to regret what had happened to Shiro, too. He'd had a few weeks to get used to the idea, but it still stung to see the bright young pilot of the Kerberos mission looking like this.

Sam crossed to the boy without hesitation and pulled him into a hug. Shiro clutched him back just as hard. Small tremors ran over his shoulders. "They said you were dead, Champion," Sam said softly. "I didn't know what to believe. Thank God for Lance telling me the truth, otherwise I would be on the floor right now."

"Thank God for Lance for a lot of reasons," Shiro murmured. "It's so good to see you, Commander."

"It's Sam." He pulled back and held him by the shoulders, giving him the brightest, happiest smile he could muster. "Lance is your subordinate, right? He calls me Sam, now, after a great deal of struggle. Can't have you calling me Commander. It would be weird."

Shiro laughed moistly and swiped at his eyes. "Fair point. Okay, Sam. It's good to have you aboard."

Finally, he was able to meet the others, Keith and Hunk, Allura and Coran. He felt like he knew them already from Lance's stories, but it was good to see their faces and shake their hands. He could see why Hunk was Lance's best friend right away. The big boy was kind and emotional and overwhelmingly sweet, and his smile was another sort of sunshine, just like Lance's. He held Sam's hand in both of his and thanked him tearfully for being there for his friend in that awful prison. Sam smiled and shook his head, patted the back of Hunk's hand, and told him that Lance had done far, far more for him than he had ever done for Lance.

The food was good, filling but a little bland. Miles better than the prison loaf, in any case. Hunk said he would make something more tasty for Sam as soon as he had recovered a little more from his ordeal. Other people filtered into the dining hall over the course of his meal, and Shiro and the others took care to introduce them all to Sam. Kolivan, the leader of a group of Galra rebels. A few members of Matt's resistance group, which was separate. A scientist named Slav. Everyone was very careful not to overwhelm Sam with too many new things and people at once, which he both appreciated and found slightly exasperating.

All of it felt surreal, a little distant. He kept expecting to wake up and find that this was all another dream, that he was still trapped in that underground prison holding a gasping, agonized Lance in his arms and trying to hold him together. Or, worse, that Lance had been a dream, too, and Sam was still alone, still forgotten, still lost in despair.

The others seemed to feel the same. Their laughter was a little too high and tinkling, their smiles a little too forced. They were all wearing happiness like clothes instead of feeling it in their bones. Something was missing, some hole needed to be filled. They were all trying, but they all felt it, that absence, that need. There were clouds over the sun that were not yet lifted.

The next few days continued to hold that same sense of absence, of unreality. Sam spent some time walking around the castle-ship and familiarizing himself with his new surroundings, talking with his children and their teammates and allies, visiting the freed prisoners who were waiting to go home or to find refuge elsewhere. There was a lot of talk that went over Sam's head, a lot of diplomatic processes and plans for future battles that were sure to come. The castle zipped around the universe, delivering a few prisoners to places where they would be safe, but most of them did not want to leave until they could see that Lance was healed and whole. So, like the rest of them, they waited.

Far more often than anything else, Sam gravitated to the room with the healing pods. Cryo-replenishers, Coran called them, though no one else seemed to use that technical term. Sam was rarely alone. Coran was there most often, though he only stayed for a few minutes at a time, checking the settings on Lance's pod and looking at him longingly for a moment, then leaving to see to his other responsibilities, of which there seemed to be many. Allura, on the other end of the scale, seemed to restrict herself to only one or two visits a day. The others all ranged somewhere in between.

Sam hated to see the guilt on Shiro's face, though he understood it to a certain extent. Shiro was the leader of this group of young people, so he felt responsible for everything that happened to them. Sam tried to talk him through it a couple of times, tried to mitigate it, but he was unsure of his success. More wrenching to see was the guilt on young Keith's face, far deeper and more paralyzing than Shiro's. That, Sam did not understand, and Keith was unwilling to talk about it at first.

Finally, though, he broke under Sam's gentle interrogation. He looked into Sam's face, his eyes glistening and mouth twisted. "It was my fault," he whispered.

Sam leaned closer. "What was that, son?"

Keith grimaced harder, then turned away, unable to meet Sam's eyes. "It was my fault Lance got captured." His voice was rough and broken. "I took a hit and went down, and he came back for me. I told him not to, I told him to run, but he wouldn't listen. And then..." He cut off, clenching his jaw. "It should have been me in that prison, not Lance. It should have been me getting tortured, starving, getting my legs broken. I wish it had been."

"Keith..."

"Maybe they wouldn't have even hurt me. Red is known for chasing after me in all sorts of situations. They were probably trying to capture me to bait their trap, not Lance. The other prisoners..." His voice broke, and he rubbed his hand over his face. "They said the Galra tortured Lance to make Blue come faster. Maybe they wouldn't have..."

"Keith." Sam stepped closer and slowly, carefully put an arm around his shoulders. The boy tensed, but didn't throw him off. He stared at Lance's face inside the pod. "Keith, you can't think that way. You can't assume that things would have been better or worse if they'd gone a different way. You don't know. We can't know. All we can do is deal with what actually happened, not regret what could have been."

Keith nodded sharply, once. His chin quivered. "I know, I just..."

Sam squeezed his shoulders. "I know it's hard. But this was not your fault, and you must not think so. Besides, how do you think Lance would feel if he knew that you thought that about yourself? He went after you, you said. Would he have wanted you to be in that prison while he was free?"

"He should have," Keith whispered. "He should have regretted putting himself in my place. He should have wished every single day that I was there instead of him."

Sam shook his head slowly. "I don't think he did. I've only known Lance for a few weeks, and you've been his teammate for months, so you probably know him better than I do. But I can tell you this with absolute certainty: the boy I met in that prison would have never, ever wanted anyone else to suffer in his place. He told the rest of us not to try to protect him, not to get in the way when the guards came for him. One of his friends tried to hide food for him once, and the guards hit her, and he was the most upset I'd ever seen him up till that point."

Keith stared at him, his face longing, as if he was drinking in the details of what had happened to his friend while he was out of reach. Sam gave him a smile, small and sad, and held him tight against his side. "You can ask him when he wakes up if he regrets saving you, if that will ease your mind. But I don't think it's necessary. I think we both know the kind of person Lance is."

Keith nodded and looked back to Lance, thoughtful and quiet. He stood there for a while longer at Sam's side, and Sam was grateful for the company.

Hunk and Katie's guilt was different, more complicated to talk them out of. They were under the impression that they should have been able to reach Lance faster, that after they learned where he was and the particulars of the trap Haggar had set, they should have been able to build the trap-busting device for Blue much, much quicker. Sam asked for the entire story, the entire process, step by step, listened to all of the research they had done, all the materials they had needed to gather, the various world and allies they had needed to visit in order to get it all done. At each step, he asked if they could have possibly done it any faster, or if there were factors beyond their control.

Each time they had to admit that they might have been able to speed it up by a few vargas at most, and most often not even that. They had already been operating under maximum urgency and speed, just knowing that Lance was in Galra hands. Sam knew that, and slowly, he was able to convince them of that as well.

"But even a few vargas could have added up," Hunk protested at the end, sniffling. Katie was pressed into Hunk's side, and Sam sat next to her, his hand resting on the back of her neck. "If we had gotten there quicker, even just a day earlier, it would have been one less day that Lance had to go through horrible, horrible pain..."

"If you had gotten there a day earlier, Haggar might not have been there," Sam said. "She left most of the dirty work to her minions and only came at the end. So it was a good thing that you were able to catch her in the counter-ambush, too, wasn't it? I know there are still Galra factions to fight, still generals out there, including that son of Zarkon, but the main central command has fallen apart. That's a good thing. Lance has a good head on his shoulders. He would agree with me."

"I guess you're right. I just...I really missed him, man. I missed him so much." Hunk sighed, and Sam reached over Katie's back to ruffle his hair.

"He missed you too, big guy. I don't know how many times I was talking to him and he'd say something like, 'Hunk says that,' or 'This one time Hunk and I.' Lance loves you all very, very much, and I'm sure he'll tell you so as soon as he wakes up."

Hunk drew in a deep, shaky breath and slumped over to rest his head on top of Katie's. "Yeah. I can't wait to talk to him again." Katie snuggled a little deeper into his side, and Sam pressed closer too, and all three of them were as peaceful as they could be, for the moment.

Less peaceful was the argument with Allura. Sam hadn't meant to have one. She happened to stop by at a moment when Coran was also there, and they chatted offhand about the itinerary after Lance woke up, the different planets they would visit to take home the prisoners who had a home to go to. And Sam spoke up, asking a question he thought was completely reasonable and uncontroversial.

"Where is Earth on that list?"

Allura paused, standing as still as if she'd been struck by lightning, then slowly turning to face him. Her face was solemn and still, her eyes regretful. "I am...truly sorry, Sam. There are no plans to return to your home planet at this time."

Sam frowned. "Why not? I understand that you need these children to fight your war, but surely they can be allowed to visit their families for a few days or a week. Especially Lance, who has suffered so much. He needs to see his siblings and talk to his mother, perhaps get some psychiatric help if there's time."

Allura shook her head. "It's too dangerous. As far as we can tell, Earth is still being treated as a backwater planet by the Galra. They know that the blue lion was hiding there, but we've been distracting them with battles and missions far afield from your galaxy. If they realize that that planet is important to us, it will become a target. We cannot return, not until the Empire is less of a threat."

Sam felt his eyebrows bending. "I thought the Empire _was_ less of a threat. Its two greatest leaders have been brought down, haven't they?"

"Yes, Haggar and Zarkon are both out of commission, as far as we know, but we have no proof that they are dead. They could come back at any time. And there are still many powerful leaders within the Empire, all hand-groomed and trained by Zarkon. They will be just as ruthless, just as cruel."

"Then we'll find a way to visit in secrecy and hide our tracks," Sam said. "You have all this technology. There must be some way."

Allura sighed. "I assure you, Sam, if there was a way, we would have found it."

"Then try harder!" That same anger that had energized Sam when facing Haggar was creeping into his bones again, bringing him up on his toes, his shoulders rising. This wasn't right. It wasn't fair. And Sam had had enough. "Lance was _tortured,_ Allura. _Tortured._ Do you know what that does to a human? To a human _teenager?_ He needs to go home. He deserves it. Even if it's just for a few days, just to recharge and remind himself of what he's fighting for. He gave up so much for this war. For _you._ You can take some risks for him, too."

Allura swayed back on her feet and rubbed a hand across her forehead. "I understand that you want to visit your wife, but..."

"This isn't about me!" Sam was screaming now, and Coran moved as if to put himself between them, but he seemed to reconsider and hold back. Good. Allura was the leader of this ship as a whole, but Sam was the oldest of the humans, with the most life experience and technically the highest military rank amongst them. He should have some say in how his people were treated, and Coran had no right to interfere.

Sam's hand flung out, indicating Lance and the pod where he floated, serene and silent. "Look at that boy, Allura. _Look_ at him. He's better now physically, he's almost healed, but you can still see the marks that were left on him by his time in that prison. You remember what he looked like when you brought him in. They beat him. They starved him. They made him scream. They _broke_ him, after he fought so, so hard to not let himself be broken. He gave everything he had for this cause, _everything,_ and when he wakes up he's going to give everything to it again. Because that's who he is. He's a hero, a damn fine one, but he's also a _child,_ and you are using him up in this war."

Allura didn't want to look at Lance. Sam could see that. Her eyes kept starting to move toward the pod, then flickering away, downcast and aimed at the floor. Sam felt some twinge of sympathy in his heart for her, truly. She was young, too, far too young to be the supreme commander of a rebel military force fighting a tyrannical empire that spanned an entire universe. But Sam could not spare Allura the truth. He had to think of Lance, and she needed to, as well.

At last, Allura steeled herself, clenching her jaw and physically turning her body to face the pod. She straightened her head, her fists clenched at her side, and looked at Lance's face. For a few long moments, she stood there, just staring. Sam watched her face, watched the emotions play over it, the struggle, the longing, and the surrender.

Finally, she turned to face him again. Her expression was still again, hardened in resolve. "You're right. Lance deserves anything that I can give him, and I will do my best to do so."

Sam nodded, relieved, and took a half step back as his shoulders fell down.

"We'll give him the choice." She looked back to the pod again, then glanced at Coran, and back to Sam. "When he wakes, we'll explain everything and let him decide whether or not to take the risk. In the meantime, I will ask Slav to work on a solution for a stealthy visit to Earth. If anyone can do it, he can, and he is oddly fond of Lance."

"Thank you," Sam said softly. "I appreciate the effort. Lance will too."

She gave him a brisk nod, then turned and left the room. "I'll speak to Slav now."

Then there was only the waiting.

Everyone wanted to be there when Lance woke, but Coran restricted it to the core group, the paladins and the Alteans, plus Sam. Even Matt chose to wait to see Lance till later. Zalyk and Braxia and few of the other former prisoners were in the hall outside the healing pod room, waiting for permission to come in. They had pressed Sam's hands in theirs as if they could pass their good wishes on to Lance through his touch.

At last the pod released, and Lance stumbled forward, eyes half-open and face slack. He fell into the arms of his best friend, who clutched him close and immediately started to cry. Lance raised his head and looked around with widening eyes that soon began to glisten. His hands clenched in the back of Hunk's jacket, and the others crowded around. Sam hung back from the group, a lump in his throat as he watched Lance reunite with his team.

Everyone wanted to touch Lance. Everyone wanted to be close to him. Hunk was unwilling to let him go, but after a long moment Shiro was permitted to take over. He folded Lance into his arms and held him with his hand on the back of his head, rocking them both gently. Pidge wrapped her arms around Lance's waist from the back, and Keith stood as close as he could manage, a hand on Lance's shoulder and a wide grin on his face despite the tears that poured from his eyes.

Everyone was crying now, and Lance kept looking around, his breath rapid and body shaking. "Is this real?" he asked, then again and again. "Is this real? Is it really real?"

"It's real, my boy," Coran said with a break in his voice, leaning forward to take Lance's head in his hands. "It's real. You're here. You're safe now." Behind him, Allura's hands were pressed over her face, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

Lance blinked, still struggling to take it all in, bewildered and overwhelmed. Then his eyes met Sam's across the room, and he blinked again, once, very hard. "Sam!" A cry of relief, of need, and Sam crossed the space between them in three strides.

The others parted to make way as Lance stumbled out of Shiro's grip, his arms outstretched toward Sam. "Sam! You're really here?"

They slammed into each other. Lance's skinny arms wrapped around Sam's shoulders while Sam picked him up around the torso and spun him, sobs breaking free of his throat. The Altean technology had relieved some of the starved gauntness in Lance's face and healed his injuries, but he was still far from the solidly built though slim young man Sam had met that first day. It was easy to lift him, almost too easy. Lance buried his face against Sam's neck and cried.

"It's real? We're free? We're here? Both of us?"

"It's real. We're both here," Sam said, voice choked and a little desperate, but he was sure it was the truth. He felt that a film had been lifted from the world, the last shreds of unreality fading away. The clouds were gone, the sun was out, and everything felt sharp and solid and _present_ in a way Sam hadn't been sure of since Haggar and her goons first hauled him out of the mountain.

Sam was here, and Lance was here. Sam set Lance on his feet and held on tight for a moment, then backed off so he could smile in his face. He could barely see him through the tears, but he knew this face, as dear to him as his own children's. "We're here. We made it. You did such a good job, and I'm so proud of you."

He pulled him in again, breathed in deep, let it out, and closed his eyes. Lance clutched at the back of his shirt, shuddering in his arms. Lance was wounded and scarred by his experience, emotionally if not physically. They had a lot of work to do, a lot of discussions to have. Sam was going to be there for Lance every step of the way, and he would also be there for Katie and Matt and Shiro and Keith and Hunk. That was set in stone, no matter what else happened.

But for now, Sam's heart was light. He knew where he was, who he was, and he was glad. There was only one more thing he needed to say.

"Welcome home, sunshine. I'm glad you're here."

The End


End file.
